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4 





I>MOE OEISTTS 


JEAN BRANT 


A NOVEL 

BY 

ARGHlBfllrS MgALPINE mhQR 


NE W YORK 
A. LOVELL CO. 



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NEW YORK 


JEAN GRANT 


a laovei 


BY 

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NEW YORK 

A. LOVELL & CO 

1890 











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Copyright, 1890 
By a. LOVELL & CO. 
[A ll rights reserved^ 


JEAN GRANT. 


CHAPTER I. 

Some philosopher has said that every life has 
its mystery. Certain it is that mine has. It is 
strange that it should be so, for no life could have 
been surrounded by more modest circumstances, or 
less connected with anything like romance, than 
mine. Born on a little suburban farm of the vil- 
lage of Seaton, some twenty miles from New York ; 
accustomed in my earlier days to nothing but 
severe and monotonous farm labor ; unschooled in 
the world’s affairs till quite late in life ; I found 
myself in the dawning years of manhood before 
I fully realized the duties and responsibilities of 
citizenship in this throbbing republic. My highest 
ambition was to become a trader in the little vil- 
lage hard by. 

At this moment I reflect upon my boyhood 
-days, and find nothing but a solitary blank save 
the memory of the loud Atlantic which, as it 
thundered against the rugged coast, awakened my 


4 


JEAN GRANT. 


boyish fancy to a faint conception of the sublimity 
of nature's poetry. At the little village-school 
where I received my elementary education, I do 
not remember having become noted for superior 
brilliancy or marked dulness. It appears to me I 
was one of those average boys who give little 
trouble to their teachers or friends, attract little 
attention from observers, and give small promise of 
a future. 

My parents were respectable, pious, and well- 
to-do people, who had no great ambition to 
attain to wealth or distinction, but were satisfied to 
five a quiet life, and to leave to me, their only 
child, sufficient of this world’s goods to give me 
what they called a fair start in life. Before my 
nonage was over, they had passed, good souls, 
to their reward. I completed my education at 
Cambridge, and returned to Seaton at the age 
of twenty-one, with the intention of selling the 
little farm, collecting the few thousand dollars 
which my parents had left me, and going to New 
York to invest my inheritance in some small com- 
mercial enterprise. 

It was at this juncture that my life took an unac- 
countable turn which involved it in perplexity and 
mystery. 

How true it is that we should expect nothing but 
the unexpected. On a pretty little hill, midway 
between our farm and Seaton, there stood the 


JEAN GRANT. 


5 


largest mansion in the place. It was owned and 
dwelt in by a wealthy and accomplished widow and 
her two lovely daughters, Jean and Leonore. Mrs. 
Sherman, I remember, had dwelt in that old brick 
mansion since the days of my childhood. She had 
been twice a widow. Her first husband, John Grant, 
had left her, at his death, this same old mansion 
which he called Dunmore, an easy competence, 
and a little daughter, Jean, as fair a creature 
as one could see anywhere. Her second hus- 
band, William Sherman, a relative of the great 
General, bequeathed to her and Leonore, his 
daughter, a million or more, the product of his 
judicious investments in the Southern cotton fields. 

Mrs. Sherman had the instincts as well as the 
manners of a lady ; and so she did not allow her im- 
mense fortune to turn her head or make her despise 
her less fortunate neighbors. On the contrary, her 
beneficence found new and larger channels through 
which to flow every day. She became a sort of 
godmother to the town. ‘The poor were her chil- 
dren; the orphans her wards ; the sick her care. She 
superintended the education of her attractive 
daughters with much wisdom ; so that they grew 
up without affectation, pride or arrogance, the 
happy possessors of fortune, virtue, accomplish- 
ments and beauty. I had gone to school with 
these girls when a boy ; I had played with them on 
the green hill-side ; I had escorted them to chil- 


6 


/EAJV GRANT, 


dren's parties ; had gone picnicing with them ; and 
had been a close companion to them all through 
my youth, never dreaming that in the vicissitudes 
of the future my life should be so mysteriously 
interwoven with theirs as to make the sorrows and 
the joys, the tears and the smiles, the pain and 
bliss, the life and the death of each to interdepend 
on that of the others. Even now, as I write their 
names, my memory conjures up a flood of awful 
recollections which makes my heart palpitate and 
my brain throb. 

It seems like a terrible dream in which the mind 
passes swiftly through every phase of suffering and 
enjoyment which lie between the extremes of para- 
dise and hell. 

I have said my early life was quiet and retired. 
It was. Could I have chosen, I would have pre- 
ferred such a life all through. I love retirement, 
and every instinct of my nature shrinks from the 
thought of notoriety. No morbid desire for public- 
ity prompts me to disclose the mystery of my life. 
I am now too old to seek the paths of fame. 
Besides, those whose names I shall be compelled to 
associate with my own in relating this narrative are 
dearer to me than my life, and nothing but the 
reflection that my fellow-men may profit by the 
disclosure, would tempt me, even at the solicitation 
of those whom I have mentioned, to unseal a mystery 
which I have hitherto guarded with sacred care. 


/EAAT GRANT. 


7 


It was in the month of June, as nearly as I can 
remember, when I returned to Seaton from college. 
I had been absent for several years, and had got 
my manners polished up a little, and began to have 
some confidence in my world-wisdom. I had car- 
ried off no laurels on commencement day, and 
was in no way encouraged to believe that my na- 
tive village would proclaim a holiday on my re- 
turn. If I had ever had any conceit either in my 
ability, or my industry, the few years at Boston 
effectually expelled it. I had never been troubled 
with overconfidence or vanity. Indeed, I had rea- 
son to believe that my friends were sincere when 
they advised me that I had altogether too little 
nerve to win my way successfully in these times of 
rushing activity. I found, however, that my arrival 
in the village was considered quite an event. I 
received many congratulations which I took as a 
matter of course. I took occasion, during the first 
afternoon, to call upon my estimable friend, Mrs. 
Sherman. 

The years which had passed, since I called to 
bid her good-by, had in no way detracted from 
her beauty ; on the contrary, they had only woven 
a few more snowy strands into her hair, making 
it a soft, silvery crown which well became her 
clear blue eyes and symmetrical face whose every 
lineament radiantly beamed with cheerfulness and 
kindness. She had always taken an interest in me. 


8 


/JSAAT GRANT, 


She asked many questions about my college-days ; 
and when I had satisfied her on those points, she 
went on to explain to me that my return at that 
time had been most fortunate, that her daughters, 
who had been attending school at New York, were 
to return on the morrow ; that she had taken the 
liberty, without my consent, to invite her friends 
to a garden-party, on the Friday evening follow- 
ing, in honor of the return of her daughters and 
myself. 

Now, I desire at the outset to acknowledge to the 
reader that my character, though not aggressive in 
any point, is, and will, I presume, always remain ex- 
tremely weak in one of the very essentials of charac- 
ter — decision. Indecision has been the bane of my 
life. I want to see the end from the beginning. 
Hamlet-like, I can see my duty clearly, but I reason, 
argue, hesitate, postpone, until my heart sickens at 
its own irresoluteness, and the golden moment ripe 
for action slips away, leaving me the victim of regret 
and despondency. 

This invitation was an honor I had not expected ; 
an honor which my retiring nature would have coun- 
selled me to avoid; but the unassuming frankness of 
my hostess, and a growing curiosity which I felt to 
meet her daughters again, and to have an opportu- 
nity of observing what time had been doing for them, 
inspired me with an unusual degree of courage, and 
led me to gratefully acknowledge and accept it. 


JEAN GRANT, 


9 


And now, long years after that evening, I sit 
and wonder whether, if I had not accepted that 
courtesy and had not yielded myself to a curiosity 
which proved at once fatal and blissful, there should 
ever have come to that bright and peaceful fireside 
the blackness of ruin which has since eclipsed its 
radiance ; and whether my life, which, from that 
evening, has been journeying on such stormy seas, 
would not have moved on through the unmarred 
solitude of its own choice, and closed in the same 
obscurity as that in which it began. 

I departed from Dunmore, assuring Mrs. Sherman 
that I should look forward to Friday evening with 
the brightest and most joyous anticipations. 


CHAPTER IL 


Friday evening soon arrived. I left my hotel 
promptly at eight o’clock for Dunmore. I had never 
been so particular about my dress as on that even- 
ing. My step seemed lighter than ever before. I 
was in unusual spirits. As I approached Dunmore, 
I perceived that the wide halls were brightly illumi- 
nated, and that the grounds were like a constellation 
of glistering stars. Every tree was freighted with 
lanterns of the most elegant designs which threw out 
their mingling lights of every conceivable color and 
tint. I entered the gate. 

Jean and Leonore emerged from a group of per- 
sons standing near a fountain, and came running 
toward me, and greeted me with their old-fashioned 
girlish welcome. I thought I had never seen two 
more beautiful women. They led me to their 
mother and went to receive the other guests. 

An hour passed away. I had met many old 
friends, and been introduced to many new ones, 
and at last found myself sauntering along the 
outskirts of the grounds, admiring the statuary and 
drinking in the ravishing music which filled the 
balmy air. For the first time in my life I was 


/EAJV GJ^ANT. 


1 1 

dreaming. Of what? Not of the music or the 
flowers, but of a fair face, — ^the face of Jean Grant. 
It had set itself in my heart. I could see it and 
nothing but it, in the roses, in the chiselled marble, 
in the scented hedge, in everything. I could hear 
the melody of her voice and nothing else, in the 
stirring music, in the splashing fountains and in the 
soft summer winds that whispered to the green 
hedge. Suddenly, I was confronted by Jean and a 
gentleman who bore her on his arm, and whom 
she introduced tome as Colonel Windsor. At their 
request, I joined them. I was amazed at the fond- 
ness which this tall, black-eyed soldier showed for 
Jean. I wondered who he was, and at once put 
him down as one of her suitors, feeling, at the 
same time, a sensation akin to envy rising within 
me. 

I suddenly repressed it. I remembered with 
pain that I could be nothing but a friend to this 
beautiful woman. We stood for a moment, when 
Jean, disengaging herself, bowed politely to the 
Colonel, and said, I beg you will excuse me. 
Colonel Windsor. Mr. Garland is a very old friend 
of mine. I have not seen him for some years. I 
desire to enquire of him privately how he has been 
behaving himself.'' The Colonel with a stiff 
military bow, replied — ''Your pleasure, my dear 
lady, is my will," and strode off. 

I offered her my arm. She accepted. 


12 


JEAN GRANT. 


I felt considerably elated by the preference she 
showed for my company, but I accounted for it on 
the ground of old friendship. But I must confess 
I was glad to be freed from the society of Colonel 
Windsor. I disliked him from the beginning. His 
haughtiness was unbearable. His manners were 
a combination of flattery and afTectation. The 
most repulsive scorn characterized his language. A 
savage lustre sparkled from his unfathomable black 
eyes. This was my impression of him ; and yet, 
he was what many would call a handsome man. 
Tall, magnificently proportioned, erect and grace- 
ful, with large, sallow features, and long mustache, 
his external appearance was as impressive as his 
expression was cunning and vicious. 

When I had led Jean to a seat, I enquired, 

Who is your friend. Colonel Windsor, Miss 
Grant ? 

Why do you ask with such apparent interest ? 
she answered. 

I beg your pardon. I was only curious. Per, 
haps I should not have asked.’’ 

‘‘ Oh, certainly. I have no objection in the 
world to telling you all I know about him, which 
indeed, is very little. Colonel Windsor is a gentle- 
man with whom we became acquainted in New 
York. We were introduced to him by a letter 
from Professor Sydney, who taught us music and 
dancing, at the College. He has been extremely 


/EAAT GRANT. 


13 


attentive to us, and begged us to allow him to 
escort us to Seaton. I think very highly of him, 
but Leonore declares that he is positively disagree- 
able. May I ask what you think of him, Mr. Gar- 
land.^’' 

Oh,” I replied, it would never do for me to 
express an opinion of your friend on so short an 
acquaintance.” 

We drifted into other and, to me, at least, more 
agreeable topics of conversation. It was indeed 
a most delightful evening. The whole surround- 
ings were inspiring. The deft fingers of love had 
opened the flood-gates of my young life and 
awakened every power.' The music swelled in loud 
melody, and then sank into soft cadences which 
blended with the low whispers of the summer 
breeze, and then the voice of mirthful conversation 
and youthful laughter could be heard as an in- 
terlude. The splendid collections of exotic flowers 
threw out their fragrance. The fountains sent their 
spray dancing in the mellow light. 

Dreamily conscious of all these, I sat by the side 
of Jean Grant, spellbound by her beauty and the 
silvery sweetness of her gentle words, till the 
greater part of the guests had departed. 

I escorted Jean to the door, where we stood in 
conversation a few minutes longer. 

As I left Dunmore, I perceived that I was the 
last guest to depart. You can imagine, gentle 


H 


JEAN GRANT. 


reader, what transport filled my breast ; for it is not 
beyond possibility that you have been in love. 

I walked with rapid strides towards my hotel. 
The night was extremely dark. As I passed a 
clump of trees which flanked the side of a small 
stream which ran along the foot of Dunmore, and 
across which a small narrow bridge extended, I was 
unexpectedly awakened from my reverie by a rude 
voice which called out — I would speak a word 
with you, sir ! '' 

Good evening, sir,*' I said with some degree of 
agitation, as I faintly descried the form of a man 
standing on the narrow bridge in front of me. 

How extremely polite you can be when polite- 
ness becomes your defence." 

‘‘ Politeness is always the defence of a gentle- 
man." 

It is oftener the pretext of a coward.** 

I do not understand your insinuations.** 

Since your understanding is so deficient, I shall 
not further insinuate. I say you are a coward, a 
base, deceitful coward.** 

I demand of you, sir,** my anger overcoming 
my first excitement, '‘who you are, and what right 
you have to accost me in this manner. Stand aside.** 
I essayed to pass by him, but he sprang in front 
of me, and to my horror, touched me with the point 
of his sword which he held in front of me to pre- 
vent my further progress. 


JEAN GRANT, 


15 


What do you mean ? Who are you ? What — 
Halt ! Make no rash motion. Be careful what 
words you use. My blood is not in temper for 
trifling. I will tell you who I am. My name is 
Colonel Windsor. You met me this evening at 
Dunmore. Without provocation you subjected me 
to a vulgar, unjustifiable, cowardly insult. I 
demand reparation, or by heaven, you shall not 
escape my sword ! 

‘‘ I, insult you ? Impossible. A gentleman will 
take no insult, where none is intended. I give you 
my word of honor as a gentleman, I had no inten- 
tion of injuring your feelings by anything I did or 
said during the evening. If you will relate the 
circumstance — 

‘‘You lie ! 

“You are not using the language of a gentle- 
man.*' 

“Take care, you unbred rustic! if you repeat 
that phrase, I shall give you a taste of cold steel 
with all my heart.” 

“ I repeat, you are not using the language of 
a gentleman. I asked you to relate the circum- 
stance to which you refer. If you show me that 
any word or action of mine might have been con- 
strued as an affront, I shall apologize to you, 
though I declare again I had no such intention ; 
more than this one gentleman cannot demand of 
another.” 


i6 


/£AN GRANT. 


I am not your schoolmaster, you impertinent, 
unmannered churl. It is not my business to point 
out your stupid blunders. When I was walking 
with Miss Grant you unceremoniously thrust your- 
self upon our privacy. I repeat, it was a gross 
piece of insolence. I demand an apology.'' 

‘‘You charge me falsely. I joined your company 
at Miss Grant’s request. She evidently did not 
consider it an affront, when she chose to spend the 
rest of the evening in my company. Your charge 
is unmanly and false. I shall not so far give color 
to your groundless imputation, as to offer the 
slightest apology." 

“ Coward ! Liar ! " he hissed through his 
clenched teeth and lifted his sword to strike. 

My anger rose to a white heat, but I controlled 
it. My position was perilous. My first impression 
of Colonel Windsor was correct. He was a bully. 
My courage rose with my anger. I took in the 
whole situation in a flash. He had not been in- 
sulted. He had simply been outrivalled, though 
not through any conscious effort of mine. It was 
jealousy which supplied his unreasoning passion. 
I remembered this, I remembered the looks and the 
words of Jean Grant, and the thought flashed upon 
my mind that to perish for her would be a worthy 
sacrifice. I advanced a pace with determination to 
meet the falling blow, and shouted — “ Strike, cow- 
ard, I am unarmed ! " 


/£AJV GRANT, 


17 


I had no alternative. I could not retreat, and 
indeed was in no mood for retreating. As the 
blow descended I advanced on my antagonist, 
received the thrust on my left shoulder, and grap- 
pled with him. He dropped his sword and engaged 
with me. For a few moments, we struggled with 
fatal determination. He was enormously strong. 
He was much the larger and heavier man, but I had 
some advantage in my hold on him. Watching my 
opportunity, I raised him by dint of sheer strength, 
off the ground, and hurled him, with terrible 
force, to earth where I held him for a minute or 
more as in a vise. I had no desire to injure him. 
My anger was fully gratified. I felt the effect of 
the blow I had received. My left arm began to 
give out, and I knew I could not much longer hold 
my quarry pinned to the earth. But what was I to 
do? To let him rise was but to renew my danger. 
To disable him would be cowardly ; to run from 
him more so. The gallant Colonel decided the 
point. He put forth all his strength to dislodge 
me. My disabled arm failed me. He pitched me 
into mid-air and rose to his feet. Scarcely had I 
time to regain my feet, when the flash and report 
of a revolver awakened me to a sense of new dan- 
ger. I felt a stinging, burning pain in my right 
side. I leaped forward to encounter my opponent. 
I staggered — reeled — fell — I knew no more. 
z 


CHAPTER III. 


When consciousness returned I found myself at 
Dunmore, stretched at full length on an invalid’s 
couch. For a time my ideas were confused. I 
perceived that Jean Grant was sitting by my bed- 
side, reading. By slow degrees I recalled the events 
of that changeful night on which the mishap befell 
me. 

As I lay there silent, thinking, wondering at my 
surroundings Jean’s eyes fell upon me, and an ex- 
pression of warmth and gladness shone from her 
face. 

I am very glad, Mr. Garland, to see you so 
much better.’’ 

Better! Have I been ill, Miss Grant?” 

Oh, yes, you have been ill for some days. 
But you are now out of danger.” 

'‘What was the matter with me? How did I 
come here? Am I dreaming, or am I mad? My 
head feels strange. Please tell me all. Miss Grant.” 

“Yes, Mr. Garland, let me tell you all; and then 
you must not give your mind any more trouble 
about the matter till you are stronger. You re- 
member the evening of the party?” 


/EAJV GRANT. 


T9 


‘‘ Quite well/' 

“You remember bidding me good-night in front 
of tlie conservatory door?” 

“Ah, I shall not soon forget that, Miss Grant! 
I remember it distinctly.” 

“Well, you had only been gone a few minutes 
when Colonel Windsor — ” 

“Colonel Windsor! By heaven, I remember it 
all ! ” 

“Hush, hush! Mr. Garland. You must not 
allow yourself to become so excited. It might 
cause a serious relapse which would deprive me of 
my reputation as a nurse.” 

“ My dear Miss Grant, I beseech you to forgive 
me for having made use of such language. My 
emotions quite overcame me. Pray proceed ; I am 
deeply interested in what you are saying.” 

“As I was saying, a few minutes after you left 
Dunmore, on Friday evening last. Colonel Wind- 
sor, who was our guest, returned from having 
escorted some ladies home, and shortly after his 
return the household retired for the night. An 
hour or so later we were all awakened by Mr. 
George Wentworth, who bore you in his arms to 
the door, and informed us that he had found you 
lying on the road-side in a dying condition. Since 
then you have lain at the point of death, Dr. Kent 
not having until this morning given any hopes of 
your recovery.” 


20 


JEAN GRANT. 


“And have you been my nurse during that time 
— how long did you say?** 

“ About four days. Yes, I have sat here nearly all 
the time, and you have not deigned to look at me.*' 
‘‘Ah, my dear lady, how unkind I have been! 
I must have been extremely ill when your presence 
did not restore me." 

“Thank you, I appreciate such a neat compli- 
ment. But that is not the question. You must tell 
us what happened you ; for the theories as to the 
cause of your misfortune are about as numerous as 
the inhabitants of Seaton. Some say you were 
robbed ; some that you had taken too much old 
wine at Dunmore ; some that you went there by 
appointment to duel with a rival ; some that you 
fell madly in love with a pretty girl, and having 
been rejected, made an unsuccessful attempt at 
suicide ; others assert that you were laboring under 
temporary insanity. Now in the midst of such 
conflicting views every one would be interested in 
the truth.** 

“ Well, Miss Grant, I think the best way for me 
to explain it will be to borrow the language of the 
parable and say : As I journeyed towards Seaton 
I fell among thieves who robbed me and beat me, 
and left me lying by the wayside ; and in you I 
have found the good Samaritan who has dressed 
my wounds and cared for me. I shall relate the 
particulars later on." 


JEAN GRANT. 


21 


‘‘Ah, just SO. That seemed to me the most 
probable cause of your misadventure. What a ter- 
rible conflict you had to go through! I hope that 
in addition to your painful injuries you have not 
suffered loss. But I beg your pardon a thousand 
times. I am exciting your mind too much by 
allowing my curiosity to overcome my sense of 
duty. You must not speak another word ; no, not 
so much as a syllable. You must try to sleep — you 
want rest. Dr. Kent will deprive me of my case 
if I am not more careful. In a few days, when 
you will be strong and well, we shall talk over 
these matters. You shall not leave us until 
you are entirely yourself again. I shall ask 
you to imagine that it is leap year so that 
it shall be my privilege to make all the invitations 
and proposals. I shall invite you to go driving 
with me each morning. I shall swing you in the 
hammock in the shade of the lilac trees at noon- 
day. In the evening I shall escort you through the 
grounds, and hear you giving such interesting de- 
scriptions of the trees and shrubs and blossoms. 
Oh, won’t it be jolly ! But I must stop. I am such 
a talking-machine when I get started. What would 
Dr. Kent say if he heard me ? ” 

“Ah, Jean — it does not seem natural to call you 
whom I have known so long and so well Miss Grant 
— you are the same good little girl that you always 
were. You have not changed. Do not be afraid of 


22 


JEAN GRANT. 


saying too much to me. True, I am very weak. 
This shoulder of mine is, I fear, badly wrecked. I 
must not speak much, but your words are delight- 
ful. They are light to my eyes, music to my ears, 
hope to my heart, and health to my body. Oh, 
Jean, how unworthy I feel of your kindness ! ” 

She made no reply, but her pressure of my hand 
proved an effectual remonstrance. The conversa- 
tion ceased, and I was soon a citizen of the uni- 
versal democracy of sleep. 

My convalescence was long, but not tedious. 
Jean fulfilled her promise to the letter. June, July, 
and August passed like dreams, the cooling breath 
of the salt Atlantic, and Jean's love, making even 
these sultry months grateful. 

At last my disabled shoulder hacj healed, my 
nerves had recovered their accustomed tone, my mind 
was in a better condition than ever before. I felt 
strong, ambitious, and eager to engage in the world’s 
affairs. But how did I stand with the Shermans? I 
feared I had imposed upon their kindness. I came 
to Dunmore the invited guest of an evening, stand- 
ing on terms of friendship merely with the family. 
Uninvited, I had prolonged my visit for months 
and had profited by my stay by becoming en- 
gaged to Jean Grant. Our engagement was not one 
appropriately gotten up for a novel. It was one of 
the most old-fashioned, prosy, but withal sensible 
transactions you can imagine. It was like crossing 


/EAAT GRANT. 


23 


the equator, for I cannot even tell the day or the 
hour when it took place. At first Jean and I had 
much to say about the past, about the old school- 
days with their romps and merriments and adven- 
tures and escapades. Then the present began to 
have considerable interest for us, and for a time we 
lived solely for the present. Our happiness was 
synonymous with being together. Separation meant 
wretchedness. 

At this period I strongly suspected myself of be- 
ing a fool ; and I sometimes indulged my observation 
the honor of believing that Jean, too, was a little too 
fond. But I argued, as we were both in the same 
condition of mind, we were fitted only to enjoy each 
other. 

This was th^ second stage in the incipient comedy. 
Comedy did I say? Would to God I could say so 
with truth ! Comedy is a drama ending in marriage. 
Tragedy^ I should say, for our drama ended in 
— but I am anticipating. 

Forgive me, reader, for introducing the thought 
of a tragedy into an engagement scene. If you 
have observed the workings of your own mind, you 
will have become aware that you have often been 
strongly inclined to laughter in the midst of your 
tears. Joy and grief are sisters, and the emotions 
of one touch the other. Enough of this. 

We had done with the past. We had exhausted 
the pleasures of the present, and the future* be- 


24 


JEAN GRANT, 


gan with its siren allurements to attract us 
thither. 

When a young couple begin to converse of the 
future they are treading on dangerous grounds. 
Let them beware. There will soon be only one of 
them. It is always an open question which one of 
them it will be. 

In the long evenings we sat in the conservatory, 
or out in the lawn chairs, side by side, and talked of 
our future prospects. We loved each other ; and 
love soon teaches its children to understand its 
inarticulate, yet eloquent language. A love that 
can be all expressed in words is a beggarly quality. 
A love to whose confirmation words are indispen- 
sable is either a false love or has a false reciprocal. 

I never proposed to Jean. Did ^he propose to 
me? Certainly not. We had no proposal. When 
we had talked about everything else, we chose for a 
topic the various kinds of homes we had met with, 
their peculiar forms of discipline and government. Of 
course we found fault with them all. None of them 
were perfect. None of them at all approached to 
our ideal of a home. 

‘‘Wait,’* said I, “my darling Jean,” embracing 
her warmly and pressing my first kiss upon her 
lovely lips, “ wait till you see oiir home. It will be 
a perfect ideal, will it not, Jean “Yes, Arthur 
dear,” she replied, responding to my embrace, and 
we were engaged. 


JEAN GRANT, 


25 


During the remainder of my stay at Dunmore I 
heard nothing further of Colonel Windsor, save that 
the family had received a letter from him announc- 
ing his return to New York. It came to be quite a 
serious problem for me whether or not I should ac- 
quaint Jean with the name of my midnight assailant. 

On the one hand it was obvious that Colonel Wind- 
sor was merely an unscrupulous adventurer who was 
grossly abusing the confidence and friendship of this 
worthy family, and that as I was the only one in 
possession of such facts as would prove him such to 
them, there devolved an obligation on me as a friend 
of the family to divulge these facts to them. 

On the other hand it was an unpleasant task to 
perform. Whatever foundation Colonel Windsor 
had for his bejief it was quite apparent that he 
considered himself a prominent candidate for Jean's 
hand. The disclosure would be a painful one for the 
family, and especially for Jean. The facts, if once 
discovered, would reach the public’s ever open ear, 
and I should have to suffer the needless mortifica- 
tion of being discussed as Colonel Windsor’s rival, 
and a vanquished duellist. Besides, I had already 
won Jean’s love. What more could I desire ? I de- 
cided to let well enough alone. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Advanced autumn found me ready to terminate 
what I had intended as a month’s visit, but what had 
really proved a six months’ stay at Seaton. The ex- 
periences which I encountered during those months 
were as varied as they were unexpected. I had 
wound up my father’s affairs, converted the lit- 
tle farm into money, and knew the extent of my 
fortunes to a certainty, which, I may add, amounted 
only to something over five thousand dollars. I had 
come ; I had seen ; I had been conquered. I, the 
hitherto cold, stern, unimpressionable student who 
had passed my college days without an adventure, 
had, within a few months, fallen in love, check- 
mated a rival, had met my opponent armed with 
sword and pistol. Alone, unarmed, and taken by 
surprise, I had overcome my antagonist, wrenching 
his weapons from his hands and hurling him by 
sheer strength and courage prostrate to the earth; 
had thereupon received a bullet wound from his 
revolver, and been carried in a dying condition 
to the home of my adorable Jean to be nursed 
back to life, liberty and love by her tenderness, 
solicitude and devotion. I had availed myself of my 


y£AJV GRANT. 


27 


misfortune by wooing and winning the one woman 
in all the world whose favor was essential to my 
life and happiness. This was romance indeed. I 
I realized, as few have had occasion to do, Shakes- 
peare’s apothegm that All the world’s a stage.” 

I was not fully decided where I should go on 
leaving Seaton, or in what pursuit I should enlist 
my energies, but I determined, now that Jean and 
I I were engaged, to make a bold and determined 
strike for fortune. My new relation in life en- 
hanced the measure of my responsibility, but at the 
I same time I felt, actuated by the potency of Jean’s 
love, and inspired by the exalted hope of making 
her my wife as soon as I could do so, that I was no 
longer my old self, but a new man, ushered into 
a newer and higher sphere of existence, with lib- 
erated capacities, enlarged ambitions, and a more 
rational notion of men and things. 

After sojourning for a fortnight in New York 
City without having found any suitable business 
I; connections, and chafing impatiently under the 
I tedious discipline of fortune, I suddenly resolved 
to cross the continent. Another fortnight found 
me among the thousand thousands of adventurers, 
j speculators, and fugitives from justice who jostled 
each other in the race for gold, on the Pacific 
coast. 

I had but two correspondents. From Jean I 
! continued to receive more and more affectionate 


28 


/BAAT GRANT. 


reassurances of her constancy and fidelity. From 
George Wentworth I was the occasional recipient 
of very interesting and newsy letters. Ever since 
Wentworth had found me stretched insensible by 
the wayside, and carried me to Dunmore, our 
friendship had been increasing. 

He had visited me daily during my painful illness, 
though I often suspected that his attentions were 
prompted more by his desire to see Leonore than 
to comfort me. 

But I thought none the less of Wentworth for 
this. We grew to be confidential friends, and, 
indeed, I felt that he would in every way be a 
worthy brother-in-law should he and Leonore arrive 
at an understanding to that effect. But Leonore 
had given very slender encouragement to his suit. 
His letters to me, however, indicated that he was 
gradually overcoming her aversion to limbs of the 
law. He had abandoned some of his idle habits, 
and devoted himself more rigorously to the doc- 
trines of Blackstone, and had astonished every one 
by making a clean sweep of first-class honors at 
his examination. 

The incidents thus briefly related extended over 
a considerable portion of time. 

The busy, crowded, frenzied western life afforded 
me enjoyment and attraction which I had failed to 
realize among the more cultured communities of 
the East. 


JEAN GRANT. 


29 


Here were conditions of society unparalleled in 
the history of the world ; robust youth and de- 
crepit age vieing with each other ; abject misery 
striving for the prize against sublime happiness ; 
fortune tourneying with fate for the diadem ; 
poverty triumphing over wealth ; labor for once 
holding capital by the throat ; crime glorying in its 
shame, and become the arbiter of justice ; liberty 
and licentiousness synonymous ; smiles and tears, 
sorrow and joy, pain, misfortune, lust and liber- 
tinism become boon companions, now creeping in 
tattered rags, now gorgeous with cloth of gold ; 
distinctions of birth unheard of ; social degrees 
unknown ; representatives of every nation and 
clime, of every color, creed and class, all actuated 
by the same sordid motive, all worshipping the 
same god — Gold; all kneeling in devout adoration 
before the same altar — Self. 

I soon became involved in this majestic stream of 
medley and contradiction. On, on, on, it swept 
me with its rushing tide. At first, its novelty was 
the only attraction. Then its study afforded me 
delight. We grow to resemble what we study and 
admire. Soon I felt myself impelled by the fever- 
ish thirst for gold. Every other thought was 
banished, save the memory of her I was to make 
my wife. Her memory, while it quickened my 
desire for the rapid accumulation of wealth, had also 
the effect of recalling moments of truer happiness, 


30 


JEAN GRANT, 


and of restraining me from much of the ferocious 
and barbarous pleasures which characterized the 
primitive society in which I moved. 

In my pursuit of wealth I was eminently success- 
ful. True, I had not discovered a gold mine and 
become a millionaire in a day. But by judicious 
speculation, I had in less than two years, multiplied 
my capital many times. 

I began to feel that I had had enough of pioneer 
life in the West, and that the time had come when 
I should return to my native town to reclaim the 
heart from which I had voluntarily absented myself. 
For a considerable time my mind was in a state of 
indecision regarding this point. A couple of letters 
which I received, however, determined my course. 

George Wentworth wrote me such a long and 
glowing epistle, in which he announced, with all the 
poetic effusiveness of a heart victorious in love, his 
engagement to Leonore Sherman that I almost 
envied him his happiness. He urged me to return 
to Seaton, and taunted me good-naturedly with 
being unfaithful to my affianced. 

By the next mail, I received from Jean the 
following letter : — 


Dunmore, Seaton, October ist, . 

‘‘ My Dear Arthur : — 

“ I received your last letter with a joyous welcome. 
Like all your letters it was just perfect excepting in 
one particular ! You will not tell me when you are 


JEAN GRANT. 


31 


coming to me. Oh, Arthur, just think of it! it is 
nearly two years since we parted. Since then, 
though I have had everything which used to make 
me happy, I have not tasted perfect happiness. I 
have never doubted your love, but my heart craves 
your presence. What a strange passion is love ! it 
makes us fools and philosophers in turn. Satisfied, 
it is heaven ; yearning for its object, it is sweetened 
misery. Arthur dear, I have, like a good little girl, 
tried to be patient, but I cannot live without you 
any longer. Do come like a darling. You have 
been so successful that we can now be married and 
settle down very comfortably. And only think of it, 
how happy, happy, thrice happy we should be, 
when you, instead of associating with those awful 
barbarians of whom you write to me, should be 
caressing your own little wife ; and I instead of 
sighing, and moping, and scolding, and getting 
old and ugly, should be exerting my every power 
to please you and make you as happy as the 
day is long. But I must not write any more like 
this, I am now laughing and crying at the same 
time. Should the words of this letter be marred 
by my tears, remember, my dearest, they were 
shed for you. Leonore and George are engaged. 
They are the best mated pair of spoons you ever 
saw. They call me the old maid, but wait till you 
come home and we’ll show them what courtship 
should be when properly conducted. George is 
turning out a brilliant success at the bar. 

‘‘Now darling, my letter is already too long. I 
shall have no happiness till you write me saying 
you are coming home. If an extra allowance of 
kisses will bring you to me any earlier, please 
accept them from your own loving 


JEAN.’ 


32 


/EJJV GRANT. 


Reader, you have guessed what followed. 

I gathered my shekels together, bade my old 
companions a not very sorrowful adieu, and started 
on my homeward journey. 


CHAPTER V. 


On my return preparations for our marriage were 
at once actively begun. The happiest months of 
my life I spent in Seaton awaiting the advent of 
my wedding day. I called on Jean each evening, 
when we both reported progress, and then the ac- 
tive committee of two would adjourn to meet and 
report again on the following evening. Only those 
who have been the fortunate participants in such 
an affair have any idea of its unspeakable delights. 

I spent a part of each day in the company of 
George Wentworth, who was now the junior partner 
of the law firm ‘‘ Mitchell & Wentworth.’' I was 
pleased to learn from day to day of his increasing 
popularity. His fortune was in its heyday. Every- 
thing he undertook seemed to prosper. He won 
nearly all his cases. The press, which makes or 
unmakes every public man, commented most favor- 
ably upon his actions. Leonore, and indeed every 
one else, was proud of him. 

We had rooms at the same hotel ; and we com- 
monly met for a little while before retiring for the 
night, to smoke a cigar and have a chat. During 
these conferences we often compared notes, and 
3 


34 


/EAAT GRANT, 


spoke to each other, in confidential terms, of our 
ambitions and prospects for the future. It was 
Wentworth's intention to work hard at his profes- 
sion for two or three years, by which time he hoped 
his professional standing would enable him to enter 
one of the large New York law firms ; then he pur- 
posed marrying Leonore. 

Rapidly the days flew past. The happiness of 
each day was heightened by the anticipations of 
the next. My life was in its spring-time. Wherever 
my footsteps turned bright fresh blossoms of 
beauty and fragrance sprang up, making my exist- 
ence more ideal than real. There was nothing to 
mar or interrupt the even flow of my happiness. I 
was young; I had never known a day's sickness 
save the occasion when the treacherous bullet of 
Colonel Windsor's revolver had left me an invalid 
at Dunmor-e. Looking back on that episode I 
could not regret its occurrence. What had it cost 
me? A slight discomfiture, an occasional pang, a 
paltry notoriety, nothing ! What had it gained for 
me? The pleasure of basking in Jean’s presence* 
for three months, of winning the fairest woman my 
eyes had ever beheld, of having her promise to be 
my wife, and of having the marital alliance all but 
consummated from which I should derive earth’s 
one true bliss — everything ! 

The days flew rapidly, but yet too slowly for 
my impetuous heart. With inexpressible impa- 


/EAAT GRAN7\ 


35 


tience I longed for the arrival of the auspicious 
morning which should empower me to clasp Jean 
Grant in my arms and feel and know that she was 
mine forever ; to be able to call her my wife, and to 
avail myself of our new relationship to show Jean, 
in ten thousand ways, how dearly, how immeasura- 
bly, I loved her, and lived for her, for her only. 

I chid my heart for its impatience and bade it be 
still. The day of days was almost at hand. But 
what if it had been distant years instead of days ! 
Did I doubt Jean? Was her heart not steadfast? 
Did her affection seem to waver? Had I a formid- 
able rival ? I asked myself these questions and 
answered them with something like presumption. 
No, I was sole monarch of Jean’s heart, sole arbiter 
of her wishes, sole centre of her affections. Rivals 
many I doubtless had had, but not one of them 
had received the slightest encouragement, not one 
of them had dislodged me from the impregnable 
tower of Jean Grant’s heart. 

Had 1 suspicions or doubts? No. My confi- 
dence was unbounded, I had more faith in Jean 
than in all the world beside ; more than in myself. 
To my mind she represented the virtue, constancy, 
fidelity, and beauty of her sex. 

I will be patient,” I said to my anxious 
heart. Only three days more. Fly, happy hours ! 
Thrice happy moment, haste ! I will be patient.” 

Such were the thoughts I was revolving in my 


36 


/EAJV GRANT. 


mind as I walked briskly from Dunmore to my 
hotel on that Sunday night in June. We would be 
married on the following Wednesday morning. 

The night was peerless. The full moon, sur- 
rounded by her galaxy of silvery satellites, rode 
proudly across the dome of the heavens which 
seemed more beautifully blue than ever before. 
The trees by the wayside, with their dewy leaves 
quivering in the mellow moonlight, and the 
gentlest of autumn breezes that fanned my fervid 
brow, and the glimmering church-towers, seemed to 
share the gladness of my heart, while the low, sub- 
dued voice of the mighty ocean, rising and falling 
in whispering cadences, lent an indescribable charm 
to the silent hour. 

I had scarcely reached my room when Went- 
worth entered. The unusual expression of his face 
indicated that he had something of importance to 
relate to me. 

Would you like to know the latest joke. Gar- 
land ? he began. 

‘‘I would,’' I replied. 

‘'Are you quite certain ? " 

“ Of course, I am. Why do you ask me that ? ” 

“Because I do not like to hurt a friend’s feel- 
ings.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“Oh, nothing very serious. Have a cigar? It 
will stiffen your nerves a little.” 


JEAN GRANT, 


37 


“ Is there going to be a second flood ? Have the 
lost tribes been discovered? Or has Franklin been 
found sitting on the North Pole ? *' I asked. 

“ None of these. Something touching your own 
particular self.*' 

All right, let us have it. I know you lawyers 
have a special faculty for beating around the bush. 
But pray tell me this wonderful joke, or I shall lose 
my relish for it." 

“ I want to tell you, Garland, about a very eccen- 
tric client I had yesterday." 

“Client?" 

Yes." 

“ And*vhat has that got to do with me^ pray? " 

“ Wait and see." 

“ Well, go on." 

“ I was sitting in my office yesterday, when a tall, 
dark, powerful-looking man entered and inquired 
for Mr. Mitchell." 

“ ‘ He is in the city,* I replied. 

Ah, indeed; then you are his clerk, I suppose,* 
he said, handing me his card. 

“‘Yes, I help him a little sometimes,* I an- 
swered, struck by the fellow's downright cheek. 

“ ‘Have you been with Mr. Mitchell long?*- 

“ ‘ Several years.* 

“ ‘ Then you are pretty well acquainted with his 
business.* 

“ ‘ Yes, somewhat.* 


38 


JEAN GRANT. 


“ ‘ Perhaps you can give me the information I 
desire ? ' 

‘ I shall be pleased to do so if it is in my 
power.’ 

“ ‘ Thank you. Then look at my card, it will 
help you to understand the nature of my busi- 
ness.’ ” 

I did as directed, and found the card read, 
'Henry Marlin, Inspector of Trust Estates, Wash- 
ington, D. C.’ 

" ' You see my business is of a somewhat delicate 
nature.’ 

“ ' I should think it would be. I was not aware 
that the United States Government had instituted 
such an office.’ 

"'Just so. Just so. It is a new office. I am 
the first officer of the kind appointed. It is in the 
interest of society that some check should be 
placed upon the administration of estates by 
trustees, and that the Government should be placed 
in possession of statistics relating to trust estates. 

I am led to believe that Mr. Mitchell, owing no 
doubt to his well-known integrity and ability as 
a financier, has the management of several estates.’ ' 

" ' Yes, I believe so.’ 

" ' I presume you will be able, with tolerable 
accuracy, to describe them.’ 

" ' I fear not. That is a part of Mr. Mitchell’s 
business with which I am very slightly acquainted.’ 


/EAJV GRANT. 


39 


Don’t misunderstand me. I do not want all 
the particulars, but simply the amount of each 
estate, names of the beneficiaries, and of the trus- 
tees.’” 

I began to be suspicious of my visitor, some- 
thing in his manner suggested insincerity. His face 
was of such a strange make-up that it excited my 
keenest scrutiny, not to say antipathy. I decided 
to act with caution. My curiosity, however, would 
not allow me to abbreviate our dialogue ; I would 
try to fathom him. As I peered into his face, I half 
suspected I had met him somewhere before ; I tried 
to recall the occasion in vain ; I would lead him on 
and put his honor to the test. 

u < j regret to say, Mr. Marlin,’ I continued, ‘ I 
am unable to furnish you with the required infor- 
mation, but if there is any particular estate of more 
interest to you than the others, I might be able to 
impart to you some facts concerning it.’ 

‘Thank you very much. Mr. Mitchell is trustee 
for the two very valuable estates known as the 
Grant and Sherman properties.’ 

“ ‘ I believe so.’ 

“ ‘Very well. Let us begin with them. Give me 
their respective values, names of legatees, and the 
amounts of the different legacies.’ 

“ ‘ It is not in my power to disclose these facts.’ 

“ ‘ Why not ? ’ 

“ ‘ Because I cannot.’ 


40 


JEAN GRANT. 


'‘‘Are not Mr. Mitchell’s books and the various 
wills in the vault } ’ 

“ ‘ They are.’ 

“ ‘ Then why not refer to them ? ’ 

“ ‘ I have no authority to do so.’ 

“ ‘Come now, my good fellow, don’t be obstinate. 
I have an urgent business appointment in New 
York this evening and you can do me a great favor. 
Here is enough to repay you for any risk you may 
run in letting me read the wills.’ 

“ ‘ He handed me a fifty dollar note.’ 

“ ‘ I am not in the habit of taking bribes, I re- 
plied.’ 

“ ‘ I beg your pardon, sir. Don’t mention such a 
thing. My business, as an officer of the American 
Government neither requires nor tolerates such 
practices.’ ” 

“ My suspicions were quickened. I now felt cer- 
tain that my client was an adventurer or a mounte- 
bank. I resolved to use every means to get at the 
bottom of whatever nefarious scheme he was ma- 
nipulating. I re.solved even to accept a bribe, if by 
doing so, I could entrap my wily interviewer. I led 
him on. He bid higher and higher. I pretended to 
weaken. Observing this, he pressed me with height- 
ened zeal. He kept narrowing his requests, until, 
finally, his requisition resolved itself into, ‘ What 
are the respective fortunes of Jean Grant and 
Leonore Sherman ? ’ At last I was able to compre- 


/£AJV GI^ANT. 


41 


hend his mission. He was a disguised fortune- 
hunter. I would accept his bribe, and as a practi- 
cal joke, interchange the young ladies’ fortunes. I 
did so. I placed Jean’s fortune at the modest sum 
of a million, and Leohore’s at a small annuity for 
pin-money. You see. Garland, I had an eye to bus- 
iness in misleading this villain. I did not want to 
encourage rivalry for Leonore’s hand, and I thought 
what a charming spectacle it would be to see this 
grovelling wretch competing with you for the 
woman who is to be your wife in three days. Ha ! 
ha ! We shall have rare sport this week, and now. 
Garland, who do you suppose this distinguished 
gentleman turns out to be?” 

Do you know ? Have discovered his name ? 
Is he still in Seaton? ” I shouted, rising to my feet 
in a terrible passion. My mind, at that moment, 
reverted fiercely to Colonel Windsor. All the 
crowded incidents of my short acquaintance with 
him came rushing upon my mind, over-riding all 
control, and throwing me into a perfect frenzy. 

‘‘Ha, ha, ha! I thought I could do it. I 
thought I could work you into a state of ebullition. 
Sit down. Garland. Keep cool. Wait till you hear 
my story through. I followed this Govermcnt offi- 
cial to his hotel. He went to his room to prepare 
for dinner. I had only to enter the dining-room 
under pretence of taking dinner to solve the 
shallow mystery. It was not long before he 


42 


/£AJV GRANT. 


entered the room and took his place at the table. 
He was no longer the statuesque official, but a tall, 
black-eyed, polished and complimentary gentleman 
whom I remember having met at Dunmore at a 
garden party on the very night on which I found 
you lying like a dead man by the wayside.'' 

‘‘ By heavens ! I knew it ! It is he ! The 
unmitigated villain! Where is his hotel? I have 
vowed before Heaven that if ever I met Colonel 
Windsor again I should beat him within an inch of 
his life. I shall not sleep to-night till I shall have 
fulfilled my vow." 

“ Great heavens. Garland, have you lost your 
reason ? This is getting serious. I meant to tell 
you a good joke, over which we should both enjoy 
a hearty laugh, but I am alarmed. Your choler is 
up. You are climbing up the walls. You are mak- 
ing the chairs dance polkas. You are a hero in 
high tragedy, leaving Irving in the distance. I 
shall have to arm myself. That’s right, Garland, 
sit down and let us discuss the situation. We must 
act prudently. This man, bad as he is, is a friend 
of Mrs. Sherman and her daughters. Without 
doubt he will be their guest to-morrow. For the 
present, at least, we must not disclose his trickery 
at Dunmore." 

‘‘ George Wentworth, I adjure you not to speak 
of Colonel Windsor to me. I abhor his name. If 
he were here now I should kill him. You have 


/EAJV GA^ANT. 


43 


told me to-night enough to brand his name with 
infamy. Sit down and listen, and I will tell you 
what I know about him ; and then, if you can har- 
bor in your bosom an atom of respect for Colonel 
Windsor, our friendship is at an end.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


If Wentworth’s narrative was a surprise to me, 
what I disclosed during the next few minutes was 
to him nothing less than a revelation. 

. For several years I had kept the secret of my 
encounter on the bridge locked in my own breast. 
Indeed I had no incentive for discovering it. My 
affection and esteem for Mrs. Sherman and her 
daughters forbade me reflecting on the conduct of 
Colonel Windsor, who, doubtless through some mis- 
representation on the part of himself or his friends, 
yet without any fault of theirs, had been their 
guest. I had never before mentioned it to any one, 
and now that I was about to be married to Jean, 
the unconscious object of our rivalry, I felt that I 
had gained such a decided advantage over my com- 
petitor that I could afford to obliterate his name 
from^ my memory, feeling certain that I should 
some morning have my slumbering vengeance grati- 
fied by reading of his having been sentenced for 
life, or hanged. 

But once more we were to meet. Only a few 
rods from me, he slept that night. He had dared 
to violate Jean’s name by taking it on his false lips. 


JEAN GRANT. 


45 


He had been estimating the incalculable value of 
my darling's worth, her love, her beauty, her noble 
womanliness, as a dervise appraises his camel’s bur- 
den, namely by a money value. 

I am not a man of quick passions, but all my 
nature rose in arms against this villain’s intru- 
sion. As I related to the minutest details my 
encounter with Colonel 'Windsor on that all but 
fatal occasion when we met on the bridge, my 
imagination inordinately warmed by the terrible 
fire of my anger ; as I dilated on his treachery, his 
cowardice, his unprovoked insolence, and his mur- 
derous intentions, George Wentworth rose from 
his seat and stalked backwards and forwards across 
the room like a caged lion, his anger rising higher 
and higher as I unfolded one incident after another 
with a particularity begotten of fierce hatred. 

The tale was told. We were both at white heat. 
Our plans were formulated. Colonel Windsor must 
not be a guest at Dunmore. The family must be 
apprised of the base deceitful character who sought 
once more to invade the sacred precincts of their 
home. 

But how ? Who would bear the ungracious mes- 
sage? Under what pretext could the subject be 
broached ? Wentworth volunteered. He would tell 
Leonore, and ask her to explain all to Jean. 

Wentworth bade me good-night and went to his 


room. 


46 


JEAN GRANT, 


After pacing my room for several hours, I retired. 
My rest was brief ; my dreams eventful. They 
were too ridiculous to be related. Once more I 
engaged my fierce antagonist on the little bridge. 
His baleful sword flashed in the dead darkness. 
Fear seized on my every nerve. I stood motionless. 
Suddenly Jean stood by my" side; encouraged by 
her presence, I rushed on my combatant. We 
clenched ; we grappled with deadly energy. We 
struggled, we fell, my opponent beneath. My knee 
was on his chest, my hand clutched his throat. I 
was pressing the life out of his breast. In my in- 
sane passion I smiled to hear him gasp for breath, 
and to see the horrible distortions of strangulation 
overspreading his blackening features. Suddenly, 
with superhuman strength, he pitched me into mid- 
air ; then, methought, he hurled me over the bridge. 
My eyes caught sight of the black, yawning abyss 
that awaited me. It seemed miles to the bottom. 
Down ! down ! down ! to certain death I went. I 
experienced the agonies of ten deaths. My whole 
life flashed before my mind. I read it all in* an 
instant. I remembered Jean, my loved, my own, 
left behind. Left behind ? Great God ! left with a 
villain, my murderer. I forgot my own suffering 
and death in this awful thought. My voice rose 
clear and loud to the Saviour of the world, that out 
of His infinite compassion, he might save my loved 
one from the wiles of this guilty wretch whose 


/EAJV GRANT, 


47 


hands were reeking with my blood ; and with the 
voice of supplication echoing from my trembling 
•lips, I awoke and knew that it was a dream. 

Soon I dozed again. This time I was trans- 
ported in my dream to my old haunts on the 
Pacific coast. Once more I was surrounded by 
the rough, out-spoken miners and speculators. I 
heard them relate their blood-curdling adventures 
and escapes. Once more I heard the clamorous 
multitude mutter and shout and shriek, ‘‘Gold! 
gold ! give us gold ! ” Once more I heard the 
thunderous tramps of motley millions gathered 
from every land marching on under the glorious 
banner of progress, and yet having their hearts 
filled with the basest desires and lusts which ever 
prompted human actions. 

I stood watching the majestic ocean, its waves 
transmuted by the splendor of the setting sun into 
molten billows of burnished gold. Its mighty voice 
was silenced by the din of the feverish throng. 

Behold ! it is no longer a dream but the magic of 
a veritable Golden Touch. The mighty rocks, and 
the winding shore, and the green fields, and the 
peerless pines, and the river that leaped into the 
ocean at my feet, and the matchless expanse of 
water stretching far beyond the reach of my view, 
had suddenly become gold. 

“Gold! gold! gold!” I shouted at the top of 
my voice. At last I had found it. The goal 


48 


/EA^V GEAN'r. 


of human desire ! the reward of human in- 
dustry ! 

One thing remained to complete my happiness,- 
Jean Grant, my love, my darling, my wife! 

Yes; she would soon be my wife; I would 
write for her at once and tell her all about my beau- 
tiful Golden City, and the palace of pure gold in 
which she should dwell. 

Suddenly I turned, and there, at my back stood 
my lovely bride, with outstretched arms ready to 
embrace me. 

Before I could move to receive her embrace. Col- 
onel Windsor stood between us, with his naked 
sword ready to strike me down. 

The darkness of night instantly descended from 
the frowning heavens and involved us in confusion. 

I muttered a terrible anathema and awoke to find 
myself wandering through my room in a state of 
nervous excitement. 

Sleep was intolerable. My brain was on fire. 

I lit my lamp ; dressed myself ; filled my pipe, and 
for an hour or so, paced my room ; my anger mean- 
while becoming more ungovernable. 

A sudden resolve seized me ; I would write to 
Colonel Windsor. 

I sat down and penned the following words : — 

“ Seaton, Monday morning. 

‘‘ Sir: — I have just been informed that you are in 
Seaton. I had hoped never to have seen you or 


JEAN GRANT. 


49 


heard of you again. We met but twice before — 
once, a little over two years ago at Mrs. Sherman’s 
garden party ; and again that same night, when you 
attempted to take my life on the bridge as I was re- 
turning to my hotel. You met me armed with 
sword and pistol. I was undefended, unarmed, and 
taken, by surprise. Had you been a man of honor, 
you would not have taken offence, wheie none was 
intended. You cannot insult a gentleman, for he is 
too noble to impute wrong motives to the innocent. 
Had you been a man of courage, you would have 
scorned to take an unfair advantage of even your 
most detested and unworthy opponent. You are 
not a man. You are a coward. You met me that 
night, not to exact an apology, for you knew none 
was due you ; not to fight a duel, for you knew I was 
not prepared for such an encounter ; you went there 
with the malicious and premeditated intention of 
murdering me. That you did not do so is no fault 
or merit of yours. You are a disgrace to the uni- 
form you wear, and a reproach to the noble soldiers 
of the republic, among whom you claim to move. 
I have exercised more consideration for your posi- 
tion than you have done for yourself. I set no 
detectives on your track or, beyond *(doubt, you 
would now be serving your country in a uniform, 
less honorable it is true, but more deserving than 
the one you wear. Nor have I even done you the 
discredit of mentioning your felonious conduct 
among my most intimate friends, some of whom had 
the misfortune of your acquaintance. But now that 
your audacity (for it would be a libel on your estab- 
lished character to accuse you of having courage ) 
has led you to intrude your obnoxious presence into 
this town, I shall no longer feel myself under any 
4 


50 


'jean grant. 


obligation of silence in this matter. I warn you 
that unless you leave Seaton immediately upon re- 
ceipt of this communication, I shall swear out an 
information and have your splendid pretentions of 
military honor and office gratified by the most 
punctilious attendance of the officers of the law. I 
have nothing further to say. Doubtless your wis- 
dom or more likely your cowardice, will suggest the 
rest. The early train leaves for the city at 
eight A. M. 

Yours at Phillipi, 

“ARTHUR GARLAND.” 

“Colonel Windsor, 

“ Eagle Hotel, Seaton. 

I congratulated myself that this was a brilliant 
idea. At least it gratified my anger and relieved 
my mind of a heavy burden. 

It was breaking day. I sent the letter by the 
hand of the porter with express directions for its 
personal delivery. 

Wentworth had not yet arisen. I threw myself 
on my bed, and being exhausted, fell into a heavy 
sleep. 


CHAPTER VII. 


When I awoke I found the mid-day sun pouring 
its full rays through my bedroom window. I 
glanced at my watch which told me that it was 
almost one o’clock. I hastily repaired my toilet 
and descende^d to luncheon. 

I was in a much happier frame of mind than on 
the previous evening. I was now able to treat the 
alarm and consternation of last night with levity. 
I was even amazed at my own puerility. I asked 
myself, “ Why should I fear this coxcomb ? Why 
should I allow his presence to exasperate me? 
Should I not treat him with disdain ? Should I not 
look at him, if we chance to meet, with the scorn- 
ful eyes one casts on a red-handed felon? Had I 
not ample revenge? Was not Jean Grant to be- 
come my wife within two days? Had I not made 
a blunder in addressing any communication to this 
infamous man?” No; something within me, per- 
haps it was envy or hatred or desire for revenge, 
told me I had done right in sending him that 
letter. 

From it Colonel Windsor would learn that I was 
still alive to witness, if need be, his attempted 


52 


/EAJV GRANT. 


crime. He would learn that I had neither for- 
gotten nor forgiven his base attempt upon my 
life. He would learn that he was still at large on 
furlough from my mercy, and that his life and 
liberty were in my hands. He would learn that I 
was no craven, that I had the determination, when 
occasion called for it, to prosecute him to the ex- 
treme limit of the law ; that I was in a position to 
hold him in defiance ; that I had won by honorable 
means the object which he had failed to gain by the 
most disreputable tactics and for the most debased 
purpose. He had sought to gain possession of Jean 
Grant’s fortune, imagining it, doubtless, to be at 
least one hundred times as great as it was ; I had 
won her affection, her respect, her love. 

Where was Colonel Windsor now? As I puffed 
my cigar I cast up in my mind all the possible 
effects my note could have had upon his feelings. 
Possibly he might have got into a violent passion 
and decided to remain in Seaton at all hazards. 
This, however, was improbable. More likely he 
had hastily packed his effects and consulted the 
railway time-table. Perhaps he may have thought 
that means of travel too public, exposing him to 
the risk of arrest. The only alternative would be 
for him to hire a conveyance or leave town on foot. 
At this last conjecture I laughed loud and long and 
wished I had been up in time to have witnessed the 
highly suggestive departure of this gallant soldier 


/EAA^ GRANT. 53 

of the republic, who fought for blood, but courted 
for money. 

Still, I did not feel entirely myself. I must see 
Jean as soon as possible, and I longed for the even- 
ing to arrive. 

I thought I should pass a part of the afternoon 
with Wentworth if he were not too busy. With 
this object in view I called at his office, when I 
learned from his partner that he had taken the early 
train for the city, but was expected to return on 
the nine o’clock train that evening. 

From the hotel balcony I watched the sun de- 
scending until its upper disk just tipped the cloud- 
robed horizon with splendid fire. 

I lit my cigar and started for Dunmore. Arrived 
there I found the house deserted. Mrs. Sherman 
and Leonore, as I afterwards learned, had driven 
out to visit a friend in the country and Jean had 
gone into the village. 

I was in no way alarmed, and as I expected the 
inmates would soon return, I decided to take a seat 
in the conservatory and finish my smoke. 

As I sat there expelling mouthful after mouthful 
of the fragrant smoke, and watched its dreamy- 
white vapors curling up into the deepening twilight 
and assuming the most fantastic curves, spirals and 
forms of every kind, the most poetical vision of my 
future married life slowly took possession of my 
mind. Therei I sat in a blissful reverie, scarcely 


54 


JEAN GRANT, 


conscious of my surroundings ; pretty much, I must 
believe, in the same condition of body and mind as 
an opium-eater when under the charm of his favor- 
ite drug. 

Suddenly, I became aware that some parties were 
approaching the conservatory, and that they were 
engaged in earnest conversation. I was about to 
make some noise to indicate my presence when I 
heard Jean's voice rising in a vehement remons- 
trance. 

How dare you, sir, even mention such a 
thing? " she said. 

I concluded to remain where I was, for a moment, 
not knowing what better to do. They were now 
standing close by me, outside the conservatory, and 
to my unutterable dismay and disgust I recognized 
the voice of Colonel Windsor who was Jean's com- 
panion. 

Consider, Miss Grant, consider for a moment, 
the sacrifice you are about to make." 

“ Were I not sure. Colonel Windsor, that you are 
my friend, I would think you meant to insult me 
by speaking of my intended marriage to the man of 
my choice, the only man I ever could marry, as a 
sacrifice." 

‘‘True, Miss Grant. You are perfectly right. 
It was rude of me to call it a sacrifice. Grant me 
your pardon, I do not wish to cause you any pain ; 
I would rather lose my life than insult you. I only 


JEAN GRANT, 


55 


wish to be your friend, and as your friend, implore 
you to stop for a moment and consider. I speak 
from entirely disinterested motives. I have only 
your good in my thoughts. I have nothing against 
Arthur Garland. Indeed, I do not know him. I 
may have met him once, but I do not know him. 
I am not passing judgment upon him. It is not 
my business to do so. But I ask you, Miss Grant, 
you the possessor of birth, beauty, and social posi- 
tion, to pass judgment on the man you are about 
to marry. It is your privilege, it is your duty. It 
is a duty you owe not less to yourself than to your 
friends, relatives and well-wishers. I will not speak 
of it as a sacrifice. I shall express it in less offen- 
sive, though more emphatic, language. I will ask 
you to contemplate the solemnity of the altered 
position you are about to assume.” 

‘‘Your language. Colonel Windsor, would seem 
to imply that I have rashly consented to marry 
Arthur Garland without having weighed the action 
or its consequences. Now, for your private satis- 
faction, I beg to inform you that such is not the 
case.” 

“ Ah, my dear Miss Grant, forgive me once more. 
What my language lacks my heart supplies. 
There are thoughts too deep for words. There is a 
sincerity of affection which even the most finely 
chosen words cannot convey. I know you have 
done your duty in this matter. You are talented 


56 


/£AAr GRANT. 


as well as beautiful. You have judgment; you 
have reason ; you have nice discernment ; you have 
intuitive knowledge of human nature ; you have a 
pure and lofty mind, unstained by one spot of 
faithlessness, without one grain of suspicion. You 
have exercised all these qualities. You think you 
are satisfied. But why? Because your mind is so 
pure that you can see nothing but good in others. 
It is in such natures as yours to love all, to trust 
all, to forgive all. Such women as you have mar- 
ried men out of compassion though they did not 
love them. Such women as you have thrown away 
their lives, their happiness, their hopes of heaven, 
rather than cause some scheming villain an hour’s 
pain, disappointment, or remorse. Again, even at 
the risk of incurring your displeasure, I beg of you 
to beware of yourself. Beware of your own nature; 
not of its weakness, but of its strength, of its nobil- 
ity, of its virtue.” 

“ Colonel Windsor, I cannot suspect the purity of 
your intentions, but I cannot resist laughing at 
your admonition. Surely if I possess all the good 
qualities which you attribute to me, you should 
have more confidence in me in this affair. Really, 
you have become quite a preacher. I must insist, 
however, that you will not further prosecute this 
line of conversation. It is extremely disagreeable. 
It would be mortifying to Arthur should he become 
aware of it.” 


/EAAT GRANT. 


57 


“ He need never be any the wiser. It will cer- 
tainly do you no good to acquaint him with the 
subject of our conversation.’' 

“ I shall certainly not feel it my duty to conceal 
this or anything else from Arthur when he shall 
have become my husband. If it is wrong for me to 
tell him of it, it is wrong for me to engage in it. 
Nothing unkind has been said of him. Nothing 
shall be withheld from him.” 

‘‘ That illustrates what I have just said. Your 
constancy and faithfulness extend even to trifles. 
Oh, what a strange world this is, where innocence 
becomes the means of its own destruction ! You 
are too good for this world. Miss Grant. Such 
a confiding, honest nature as yours can never 
-fight its way through this buffeting world with- 
out pain and loss. Do you think for a moment 
that this wonderful man whom you mean to marry, 
this acme of human excellence, this paragon of 
men, this Hyperion dropped down from among the 
gods, will observe such scrupulous good faith 
towards you ? Well, this is a comical old world ! ” 

I have not the least doubt but he will. I have 
implicit faith in his honor. I believe he will keep 
no part of his life, present, past, or future, hidden 
from me.” 

Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, don’t be too amusing. Miss 
Grant. This is carrying faith down to ridicule. 
What a splendid travesty! ” 


58 


/JiAAT GRANT. 


“ It will always delight me to please or amuse 
you, Colonel Windsor, but I should prefer a more 
appropriate subject. And, really, I must say that 
your mirth is an enigma to me. If you can make 
so light of human faith, I fail to see on what ground 
you base the sermon on morals which you delivered 
a few moments ago. You evidently are not a dis- 
ciple of your own doctrine.’' 

“I beg your pardon. Miss Grant. You can- 
not see this matter as I do. You have not seen 
much of the world. You have not yet measured 
the average man. Oh, I assure you. Miss Grant, 
he is a fraud, a delusion, and a snare ; a monster, 
in all verity! He brushes his promises aside 
like cobwebs. He cares nothing for woman but 
to have her serve him. He has little faith and 
less honor. If you will not hear me now, remember 
my words, for they will surely come to pass. Trav- 
erse every country in Europe, and follow the Stars 
and Stripes through half the States in the Union as 
I have done, and you will observe that this character 
applies not to one nation or class, but to every 
class and condition of men. Not one man out of a 
million can appreciate such a nature as yours.” 

‘‘ I am sorry to observe that you have so little 
faith in your own sex. I can say a good deal more 
than that for mine.” 

“ Don’t misunderstand me. Miss Grant, I am not 
speaking of all men, but of the average man.” 


/EAJV GRANT. 


59 


‘‘ Then, I am glad to say, it has never been my 
misfortune to have formed the acquaintance of an 
average man/’ 

Indeed ! Then, I must have been misinformed. 
Miss Grant. Since coming to the village I have 
been told on all hands that your intended husband 
belongs to that class.” 

I cannot believe that any resident of Seaton 
made use of such language. I am not aware that 
Arthur has a single enemy in this place and none 
but an enemy would give utterance to such a false- 
hood regarding him. Arthur was born and brought 
up here. He is known and esteemed by the whole 
village as a man of character and worth. I am 
sure he has never been known to do a mean or a 
dishonorable act.” 

. True, quite true ; I believe all that. That is 
not what I refer to. I speak of birth. No thanks 
to a man for doing right. Perhaps he may never 
have had an opportunity of doing wrong to his 
profit. There are higher tests of human character. 
His best actions cannot give him noble birth. His 
virtues are merely negative.” 

Reader, you have already condemned me with 
your bitterest thoughts for having remained a 
passive auditor to all this abuse of myself and an- 
noyance to Jean. But have you considered my 
position ? Have you thought that as I heard this 
villain throw out his subtle insinuations against my 


6o 


JEAN GRANT. 


reputation, 1 was in danger of dashing his brains 
out with the first weapon I could lay my hands on ? 
Who can describe my feelings? Who can imagine 
what resentment and murderous anger held sway 
in my bosom as I listened to this man, who had 
already attempted to murder me in cold blood, 
standing beside the woman who within two days 
was to be my wife, breathing in her ears by the use 
of every artful agency,* the most defamatory accusa- 
tions against my reputation. How could I endure 
it? How, or rather why had I suffered it so long? 

I know not. All I know is that I sat there un-" 
manned by the very force of my own passion, fear- 
ing to move, lest in the awful moment which must 
follow, I should kill this man and myself. Had 
I not my revenge ? What could be sweeter music to 
my ears than to hear his slanderous falsehoods 
refuted triumphantly by my true, loving Jean?. 
What transport half so delightful as to hear my 
praises flowing from her lips and falling like drops 
of burning lava into the heart of my would-be mur- 
derer ? My mind was now fully made up. I should 
listen to all the dialogue. I should hear every libel 
which this false man had to publish against me. I 
should witness my love making such a profession of 
her affection to me as no woman was ever before 
called upon to make. Mine would be the supreme 
pleasure of seeing this dastard driven from the 
field by the piercing shafts of a woman's satire. I 


JEAN GRANT. 


6l 


should see him humbled in the dust by her con- 
stancy, and baffled in his vile attempts to turn 
awry the current of her love. In his ignominious 
defeat I should be more than conqueror, and should 
find myself more than ever established in the 
unassailable stronghold of Jean’s love. Yes; I 
would hear it all. That would be my chief revenge. 
As a miser rubs his hands in the agony of delight 
as he bends above his shining pelf, so I should 
gloat over the abasement, defeat, and shame of this 
impious wretch. And then ? Then what? I had 
not yet decided whether to sally forth, overtake him 
in his retreat and beat him with my own hands, or to 
commit him into the custody of the law for his past 
offence. In the mean time I would listen, and trust 
my ultimate decision to the course which the dia- 
logue which was now waxing warmer should event- 
ually take. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Negative virtue ! ” Jean exclaimed with un- 
wonted ardor. Is doing right negative? If so, 
pray what is positive? You astound me! Noble 
birth, forsooth ! One would think to hear you 
speak that you were not an American ! Is this a 
land, Colonel Windsor, where distinctions of birth 
are built on ? This is America, the home of the 
free. I love it ! I love this land 1 What is the 
foundation stone of our Constitution ? If I remem- 
ber aright, Arthur told me it is this — ‘ All men are 
born free and equal.* That is the grandest senti- 
ment ever moulded by human lips. It is the true 
basis of all society; it is the embodiment of the 
highest philosophy. It is more than half of Christ’s 
teaching. Upon this rock of equal birth, equal 
rights, and equal laws, we have planted the founda- 
tion of this grand Republic, destined to be the 
greatest nation the world has ever seen. It is this 
motto, filling the youth of our land with holy 
aspirations, that lifts the peasant’s son from the 
plough to the President’s chair. It is the true 
principle to which every human heart lends its 
assent without comment or argument. All men 


JEAN GRANT. 


63 


are born free and equal. It was this sentiment 
which drove the Pilgrim P'athers to forsake all that 
was dear to them in the old land, to adventure on a 
stormy sea, and to found this country, the asylum of 
justice, the home of equality and freedom, the cra- 
dle of progress and fraternity. It was this senti- 
ment that led our brothers to take up arms against 
each other and sacrifice their peace, their families, 
their lives, in order to strike the yoke of bondage 
from off the neck of slavery. It is this sentiment 
that makes our whole nation applaud true worth 
and heroism irrespective of birth, creed, or national- 
ity. I am not ashamed of Arthur Garland’s birth, 
I am proud of it ; proud to know that he has risen 
above his birth’s invidious bar to occupy a position 
of promise and honor among his fellows. His 
parents were not rich ; neither were they poor. 
They had sufficient of this world’s goods to make 
them comfortable, and they were always respect- 
able. Arthur Garland is a true man, a gentleman. 
I think a man who has sufficient pluck and energy 
to win his way in the world is much to be preferred 
to a self-styled gentleman through whose veins 
there run the hereditary vices of a long line of ances- 
tral profligates, whose only merit is his accidental 
birth in a palace and whose only wealth is the moiety 
of a fund wrung from the very hearts of a long-suffer- 
ing peasantry, rendered feeble, effeminate, and unre- 
sisting by centuries of social tyranny and monarch!- 


64 


JEAN GRANT 


cal extravagance. I must repeat that you amaze 
me, Colonel Windsor, by referring to distinctions of 
birth as a ground of preference. I would rather 
marry the son of our old gardener if he proved him- 
self a worthy man, than a titled snob with nothing 
but vicious and idiotic tendencies in his composi- 
tion. So would any American girl.” 

‘‘ What a splendid speech ! What an eloquent 
exposition of the elementary principles of repub- 
lican government ! All men are born free and 
equal. The trouble, is they won’t remain that 
way. Some rise into higher liberty, some sink into 
slavery, some attain to wealth, some grovel in 
poverty ; some pursue virtue, others revel in vice ; 
some become martyrs, heroes, deliverers, reformers, 
and philanthropists, while others develop into mur- 
derers, cowards, oppressors, fossils, and misanthro- 
pists. I am not an AmeHcan, I must confess I am 
an Englishman. You Americans are mighty level- 
lers but you are also cunning trimmers. Techni- 
cally speaking, you level up and trim down.” 

I don’t understand you, Colonel Windsor.” 

“ I simply mean this. You would have every 
person who is above you in rank, wealth or influ- 
ence, brought down to your level. You would level 
all who are above you. But there you would have 
the levelling stop. You would not have yourself 
levelled with those who are below you. Each indi- 
vidual begins to trim exactly at that degree in the 


JEAN GRANT, 


6S 


social thermometer opposite which he is the margi- 
nal black line. You denounce the titled aristocracy 
of Europe, because it will not marry and be given in 
marriage with the offspring of rampant democracy. 
But when one of your daughters elopes with your 
coachman, you are humiliated and affronted, and 
you renounce her as an outcast from your family. 
Oh, you are indeed a nation of hypocrites ! Why 
not be consistent ? Why not acknowledge the pro- 
priety of titular distinctions, or if not carry your lev- 
elling process down to the lowest point of society?’' 

“ There is no doubt something in what you say. 
You view us from the standpoint of the individual, 
I, from the standpoint of the nation.” 

Then, Miss Grant, we understand each other on 
that subject. Seldom do I meet even an American 
woman who can bring such an eloquent array of 
facts in support of her position as you have done. 
I did not know before that you could number 
among your numerous accomplishments and talents 
that of the eloquence of a Webster. Would to 
Heaven you had known who you were and what 
your talents were before you had promised to throw 
yourself away on one who is in no way your peer.” 

Colonel Windsor, what do you mean ? I have 
a little more faith in my own judgment than I have 
in yours, and in my judgment Arthur Garland is my 
peer, and more than my peer. My marriage is a 
matter of my own private business and I shall 
5 


66 


JEAN GRANT, 


suffer no dictation from any one concerning it. 
The man I have chosen is the man I love. That 
settles it. No one has a right to question or criti- 
cise after that.” 

“ Yes ; that’s very well, Miss Grant. But why do 
you love Arthur Garland?” 

Because he is worthy of my love.” 

“Very well; there is much sense in an answer 
of that kind. If he is worthy he must have worth 
of some kind.” 

So he has ; he has worth of every kind.” 

“Indeed ! I am delighted to hear it. His educa- 
tion ? I suppose he has a finished education? ” 

‘'Yes, he was graduated at Harvard.” 

“ With honors I suppose?” 

“ No, I believe not. If so, he has not told me of 
it.” 

“ Ah ! that’s unfortunate. A college course 
nowadays without honors amounts to little. What 
profession does he practise ? ” 

“ He is not a professional gentleman.” 

“No profession? You surely would prefer a 
professional gentleman. A woman of your ambi- 
tion would never be happy tied to a man without 
professional aspiration. A man without a profes- 
sion is like a bird without wings ; he cannot rise ; 
he cannot fly; he cannot shine; he cannot move. 
He must remain stationary all his life. If he has 
no ambition all the better for him ; for then he can 


JEAN GRANT. 


67 


seek seclusion, and avoiding the curious eye of the 
world, let his narrow life burn out unused and 
unnoticed. If he have an ambition, thrice pitiful is 
he then. His futile and painful attempts to rise 
against a fate that cannot be assuaged, will evoke 
the pity, the sympathy and the tears of the world 
to no other purpose than to kill with sorrow and 
remorse the helpless object which calls them forth. 
I hope it is not yet too late for you to recall your 
vow and save yourself a life fruitless in everything 
but misery, regret and disappointment.’' 

“ I have decided. You have no right to ask me 
to change my mind. 

My dear Miss Grant, you are perfectly right in 
what you say. I have no right to ask you to 
change your mind. I do not ask it as a right. I 
do not even ask it as a favor to myself. I ask it as 
a kindness to you. Were I seeking to further any 
interest of my own, do you think my independent 
spirit would permit me to insist as I have done on 
your re-consideration of this solemn relation into 
which you are about to enter? Never. But I feel 
that you are too much of a lady to misjudge me, 
or to construe as an offence anything I may say 
as a kindness, even though it may be said, as truth 
and sincerity are always expressed, with bluntness 
and directness, bordering on apparent rudeness.” 

I beg your pardon. Colonel Windsor, if I have 
been too hasty in replying to your kind counsel. I 


68 


/£AJV G/^AJVT, 


have not the slightest suspicion that you are acting 
from a selfish motive. I know you are advising as 
a friend. If I cannot accept your advice, it is be- 
cause it is impossible for me to do so. I love 
Arthur Garland. I shall marry him. Can we find 
no other subject more pleasant to discourse? For- 
give me, if I have been impatient or ill-tempered.” 

“You have done or said nothing which requires 
pardon. I understand your predicament. In truth 
I sympathize with you profoundly. I presume this 
young man must be the possessor of great wealth?” 

“ Do you mean Mr. Garland ? I do not know 
anything about the extent of his fortune. I know 
he has enough to keep me supplied with whatever 
I may require or he would not ask me to become 
his wife.” 

“Ha, ha, ha! Great heavens! Miss Grant, are 
you losing your reason ? It cannot be true that 
a woman among millions, are going to lit- 
erally throw yourself away on a youth without 
birth, without education, without profession, without 
wealth ! Impossible ! It cannot be ! I am dream- 
ing! Oh, Miss Grant, I implore you, do not wreck 
your life’s happiness, by indulging in a whim. Do 
not act rashly or hastily. You are young yet. 
Take time. Postpone your marriage for a year. 
That will give you time to consider, time to reflect. 
A few days more and it will be too late. All will 
be over and you will be a prisoner for life, bound in 


JEAN GRANT, 69 

chains of fire, chains so strong that even the laws of 
the country cannot break them asunder.’' 

I cannot stop to consider what Arthur Garland 
possesses. It is enough that I love him. Of one 
thing I am certain, that he possesses the highest 
earthly treasures — a Christian hope and a blameless 
reputation.” 

‘‘Are you quite sure of that?” 

“Absolutely sure.” 

“ Have you known him all his life?” 

“ I have.” 

“ Has he always lived here ? ” 

“Yes; with short intervals at school and abroad.” 

“Ah, just so; very good; have — have — have 
you a particular knowledge of how he deported 
himself while at college ? ” 

“ No ; but I have no doubt he conducted himself 
as a gentleman.” 

“ Miss Grant, I regret to say there are one or 
two incidents in the life of this young man of which 
you appear to be entirely ignorant. I fear he has 
not kept faith with you.” 

“ I am sure he has acted in good faith. No one 
can say anything against him.” 

“ I admire your fidelity. But facts cannot lie. 
There are a few things about him you should know. 
I did not come here to disclose them to you. 
When you said a moment ago that Garland had 
never done a mean act, I agreed with you, though 


70 


/EAjV grant. 


I knew the contrary to be the truth. I did not wish 
to give you the pain of learning his offences. It 
gives me pain to think of them. I little dreamt it 
should ever become necessary for me to speak of 
them to you. But since this gallant adventurer has 
not had the honor to tell you of them, I, as your 
friend, would be recreant to our friendship did I 
not disclose these damaging escapades of your 
lover, so that you may be fairly prepared for what 
may be the sequel to your marriage should you per- 
sist in your present purpose.'* 

“Colonel Windsor, stop! Not another word ! I 
will not hear you ! Whatever you might say 
against the honor of Arthur Garland would be false. 
I would not believe it and I will not hear it. I am 
beginning to suspect your motives. You cannot be 
my friend, when you wish to cause me such pain — 
unnecessary pain and worry." 

“Brave girl! My brave trusting Jean!" I 
thought, and trembled in delirious triumph. ‘‘You 
are the truest and bravest of women," I whispered 
to my heart. My position was becoming painfully 
uncomfortable. I chid myself for having sat there 
in silence so long. I called myself a coward, a 
weakling, a nobody. Was there ever a man before, 
since the world began, who would sit covertly by, 
and listen unmoved to a treacherous rival deliber- 
ately coining a fabric of lies about himself and 
pouring them with all the venom and subtlety of a 


JEAN GRANT. 


71 


serpent into the ears of his betrothed ? Did there 
ever before live a man who would not defend his 
lady-love from the unchivalrous attack of a de- 
ceiver's insolence? 

Never until that moment had I entertained 
an intelligent appreciation of Shakespeare’s Ham- 
let.” Like him, I had the motive and the intention 
to act. Like his, my enemy had stained his 
hands in innocent blood. Like him, I was called 
upon by all that was good and sacred to avenge 
a great wrong. Hamlet’s guilty, incestuous uncle 
had found his own brother asleep, and took ad- 
vantage of the occasion to rob him of his life; 
my wretched enemy. Colonel Windsor, under al- 
most equally disadvantageous circumstances, sat- 
isfied himself that he had murdered me ; Shake- 
speare’s model of fiendish crime had pretended to 
soothe the sorrow of his brother’s wife by becoming 
her most devoted husband. Colonel Windsor was 
now sitting within a few yards of me, seeking by 
insult and falsehood to sever me from the one treas- 
ure in all the world which I held dear. Yet with 
all this damning evidence against Colonel Windsor 
burning at my core, Hamlet-like, I lacked the 
courage, the decision, the manhood, to strike. But 
I was now committed to my position. Since I had 
heard so much I w^ould hear all — then I would con- 
front Colonel Windsor with a terrible reckoning. 
But while I decided on this definite course of ac- 


72 


/EAA^ GRANT. 


tion, I could not conceal from myself the fact that 
my senses were becoming confused and my anger 
uncontrollable. My brain was on fire, and I 
dreaded what the next few moments might bring 
forth. 

Colonel Windsor, it became evident to me, had 
arranged his attack upon Jean's affection with the 
utmost skill and tact. He had first figured in the 
role of a polished gentleman, too proud and well- 
bred to impute even a single dishonorable thought 
to me or any one else. In this character he had ex- 
hausted, to no purpose, all his stock in trade of 
finesse, duplicity and masked hypocrisy. 

He had endless resource. He next pretended to 
honestly and conscientiously weigh me in the bal- 
ance and declared that he found me wanting — 
wanting in birth, in education, in wealth, in every- 
thing. Here again he was foiled. Then he di- 
rected his malignity against my private character. 
But all in vain. 

What course was he now about to pursue? 
Would he invent specific falsehoods? Thank God, 
there was nothing in my life which I feared he 
would disclose. Of one thing I was certain — that 
Jean Grant would remain steadfast to the end. 
Her faith would not waver, her love would not 
swerve, her heart would remain mine. Had I 
doubted, this I could not have sat there one mo- 
ment. I should have sprung at the villain’s throat. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Miss Grant! Jean! Let me call you Jean/' 
continued Colonel Windsor, affecting the utmost 
pathos, ‘‘ in the name of God, do not misread my 
thoughts. As I live, they are for your welfare. 
Have I known you and enjoyed your friendship if 
not your affection, have I thought of you, corre- 
sponded with you, yes, even loved you to no pur- 
pose ? Can you for a moment doubt my sincerity ? 
Have I not lived more for you than for anything 
else in the world? Yes, and I will do more. If 
necessary I can die for you. Often have I staked 
my life on the field of battle for my country. I 
call Heaven to witness that I love you more than I 
do my country or myself. Can you, will you, do 
you believe me capable of any act of infidelity 
towards you ? " 

• Colonel Windsor had so well simulated a sincere 
and devoted interest that he was now standing 
before Jean in a most beseeching attitude. As he 
delivered this exordium, his voice trembled, his 
face twitched nervously, his whole frame shook 
with intense excitement; and, as if his art could 
excel nature herself, every word he spoke received 


74 


/£AJV GRANT. 


emphasis from a fitting wafture of the hand, facial 
gesture or motion of the body. The devil himself, 
who sometimes appears as an angel of light, could 
not have done a better piece of acting. 

This well-chosen speech, to my astonishment, had 
produced the desired effect. It had appealed to 
Jean’s pity. It had touched her sympathy. It 
disarmed her rising anger and suspicion and 
afforded her wily companion an opportunity of 
going to the extreme of vituperation and slander 
towards which he had been gravitating. 

“ Oh ! Colonel Windsor, pardon me for my 
unkind and inconsiderate words. Truly, my mind 
is sorely perplexed. It seems as if I were scarcely 
myself. So many thoughts crowd into my brain at 
once, that I am confused, and scarcely know what 
I say. Forgive me! What could have induced 
me to address such language to an old and trusted 
friend? Forgive me ! ” 

“Ah, my dear Jean,” continued Colonel Wind- 
sor, rejoicing in her perplexity, “ I have nothing to 
forgive. I am glad you will hear me. It is not like 
you to be uncivil. Your language is usually like* 
yourself, gentle, loving, confiding, full of music and 
sweetness. You will hear me. I rejoice. It is 
painful to me beyond what I can express. To you 
it will be torture. But hear it. It relates to your 
love, your happiness, your life.” 

“I shall hear it,” said Jean, almost in tears. “I 


JEAN GRANT, 75 

cannot believe anything you may say against 
Arthur, but I will hear it from you as a friend.” 

I now perceived more clearly than ever the diffi- 
culty of my situation. I had compromised myself. 
Jean, after all, was but human. She had now 
consented to listen to this man breathing out false- 
hoods against me. Already I felt myself becoming 
angry with her. But what if she should believe 
him ! What if she should betray the slightest 
insincerity or inconstancy toward me ! What if she 
should let drop a word of suspicion or conjecture as 
to my past life, or discredit, even by her silence, 
any of the representations I had made to her. The 
moment was critical. A word, a laugh, a sigh or a 
tear from Jean might wreck the whole of our antici- 
pated happiness ; might fill our lives with the gall 
of bitterness. Merciful heaven ! the test was too 
severe. Had I not courted the defeat of my fond- 
est hopes ? Why had I not made my presence 
known ? Why had I not foreseen what might 
happen ? But now, too late. I had placed my 
chances on the cast of a die. I had helped to 
weave my own crown, and, whether of thorns or of 
roses, I must wear it. Would Jean stand the test? 
I hoped, I believed she would. If so, my revenge 
and my victory would be sealed at once. If she 
wavered in one point all would be lost. 

'‘Yes ; I thought you would. That is more like 
you ; more like your sober, intelligent, discriminat- 


76 


JEAN GRANT. 


ing mind. Each of us in life must learn and 
endure. Better know facts than their conse- 
quences. Better know where the adder lies than 
step on it. Better, Miss Grant, a thousand times 
better, that you should become acquainted with 
Mr. Garland’s history before marriage, than to have 
your whole life embittered by learning of it, as you 
would be sure to do, when you had gone too far to 
retrace your steps.” 

‘‘ Oh, Colonel Windsor, surely it cannot be any- 
thing so bad as that.” 

‘'You shall judge. You shall hear. I have no 
quarrel with Mr. Garland. Believe me, I would not 
wrong the young man ; I am more anxious to 
extenuate than to aggravate the measure of his 
offence. I was living at Boston when Mr. Garland 
was attending school there, and to make a long 
story short. Miss Grant, I may say that he betrayed 
and ruined one of the most beautiful girls in that 
city. Her parents were very poor, but she was 
admired by all for her -beauty and her innocence. 
She afterwards followed him to California, trudging 
across the continent encumbered by the token of 
her shame until she stood before her betrayer. 
Finding that he closed his heart to her appeals and 
laughed at her misfortune, she lost her reason and 
died fn a mad-house.” 

“ Oh, Colonel Windsor ! ” cried my much 
wronged Jean, and swooned away. When she 


JEAN GRANT. 


77 


rallied, she found herself in his arms pressed closely 
to his breast. At once she sprang to her feet and 
exclaimed, — 

Sir, why do you hold me in this way? You 
have no right to do so. This, that you tell me 
about Arthur Garland, is false; it cannot be true. 
Tell me that it is a falsehood. I know him so well ; 
I respect him ; I confide in him ; I love him. He 
could not treat any one in such a manner. There 
must be some dreadful mistake.'* 

‘‘Yes, yes! she denied it. But she hesitates, 
doubts. Why did she swoon ? She must inwardly 
believe this lie. Can she believe this of me ? If so 
— if so — Oh, I shall go mad. I must strike now ! 
No, not yet ! " I thought. 

“ Ha, ha, ha 1 " laughed the Colonel, with a most 
malicious voice. “ I scarcely expected you should 
believe it. But facts cannot lie. I know whereof 
I speak. It was my misfortune to have been inti- 
mately acquainted with this poor, yet worthy 
family, whose hearth was forever darkened by the 
man you mean to marry. Miss Grant ! My dear 
Miss Grant ! Pause and think. You will not marry 
this man. You will not share his poverty and his 
shame. You will not leave your palatial home for 
the squalid hovel he will furnish you in the meanest 
city quarter. Say you will not. Are men so 
scarce? Your mistaken love for this man will per- 
ish in a day or two. Then it will be your privilege 


78 


JEAN GRANT. 


to accept the hand of some noble, worthy and 
wealthy gentleman whose education and social 
standing will compare with your own. Think what 
it is to become the wife of such a man ; to be the 
brightest ornament of his home ; to be the queen 
of his heart ; the joy of his life ; to attract the ad- 
miration and to silence the envy of his detractors; to 
be the leader in the circle in which he moves; to 
employ the many opportunities of doing good af- 
forded by his virtuous and exalted character, by his 
vast fortune and his sympathetic devotion to every 
philanthropic movement.” 

“Oh, what shall I do?'" exclaimed Jean, almost 
in despair. “ How shall I ever meet him again ? 
How shall I ever trust him ? Would to Heaven you 
had not told me this; for though I cannot believe 
it, it will never leave my memory. What shall I 
do ? Where shall I go for sympathy, for pity, for 
the truth ? I cannot believe it. Colonel Windsor, I 
cannot believe it. He, of all men most gentle, lov- 
ing, pious even, to be the author of such infamy ! 
Impossible ! Oh, my heart will break ! my head is 
bursting! It cannot be.” 

“ My dear Jean, if I may make so free as to call 
you that, do you doubt my word ? ” 

“ No, no ; I do not doubt you. But there must 
be some mistake. It cannot be he. It cannot be 
Arthur Garland ! He is too good, too true ! ” 

“ My dear Jean, I sympathize most profoundly 


/EAAT GRANT. 


79 


with you. Were it possible that I could be mis- 
taken, I would not have told you at all. There can 
be no mistake. There is no mistake.*' 

Then, I shall know all. He will be here in a 
few minutes. I shall ask him all about it. I shall 
quote you as my authority. He shall explain all 
satisfactorily, or forfeit his right to my love ! " 

‘‘Brave Jean! you are now yourself. That would 
be a proper course. But how about me? Must/, 
because I played the part of a friend to you, forever 
bear the brunt of this vicious man’s anger and re- 
venge ? Surely not 1 ” 

“No, no, never; you shall not suffer. I must 
not ask him for an explanation. I could not do so 
without involving you. What shall I do ? Oh, I 
pray you, Colonel Windsor, counsel me in your 
wisdom ; direct my footsteps in this perilous hour. 
I cannot marry Arthur Garland and silently nurse 
the thought through life, that by doing so, I have 
condoned the ruin and death of this hapless daugh- 
ter of poverty. I cannot reject his hand without 
telling him my reason ; and I cannot even mention 
the affair to him without betraying the confidence 
of my dearest friend. Oh, merciful heaven I what 
shall I do ! ” exclaimed the duped woman, in a 
passionate outburst of tears. 

It was too late now for me to interpose. The 
spell of my love for Jean Grant was irretrievably 
broken. My pride, my anger, rose in revolt. She 


8o 


/EAJV GRANT, 


had heard the wretch’s libels; she had more than 
half believed them. Most cruel of all, she had 
expressed her willingness to reject my love, re- 
fuse my hand and defeat our intended marriage 
rather than give me the name of her informant. 
Jean had broken faith with me. No power, no 
inducement could now have led me to marry 
her. I would choose rather to roam the earth, 
a hopeless pilgrim, an outcast from society, hated 
of all men, and a hater of all. I would prefer 
to spend the remainder of my life pining in some 
dungeon, forgotten and unknown. Oh God ! what 
.cruel fate ! In the midst of my anger, I felt some- 
thing beyond common sorrow for Jean. Jean 
Grant! my darling Jean! my poor, lost Jean! 
duped by a villein ! swayed from the true, honest 
purpose of her innocent heart by the flattery and 
the falsehood of one of the most degenerate of 
men ! But I tore this pity, this sorrow, this charity, 
from my heart and threw it beneath my feet. Why 
had she yielded ? Why had she listened ? Why 
had she believed ? Fool, fool," fool ! and I ? What 
had I done to deserve it ? True, I should not have 
allowed Jean to walk in the path of temptation. 
When I first heard her in converse with Colonel 
Windsor, I should have rushed to her side and 
snatched her to my breast as if she had been play- 
ing with a reptile, to touch which would be death. 
Still I felt a fierce, almost maniacal, gladness that I 


/EAAT GRANT. 


8l 


had not done so. Jean was not true. She had 
been deceiving me all along, possibly without know- 
ing it. Had we been married, her deceit and hol- 
low-heartedness must sooner or later have manifested 
themselves, with still more awful consequences. 

Better now ; better, far better, that I should en- 
dure my present disappointment, mortification and 
resentment, than that we should have, by the union 
of unholy hands, entailed upon ourselves the curse 
which, by divine decree, as well as. by the laws of 
nature, is pronounced upon a loveless marriage. 

This thought temporarily hushed the storm of my 
passion, and cooled my heart so suddenly that it 
became a stone. What cared I ? I felt like burst- 
ing out in a long, loud ring of laughter at the 
hideous mockery and the double-dyed hypocrisy 
that marked the scene ! Without emotion, I saw 
Colonel Windsor, through the lattice, taking Jean’s 
white hand in his own and chafing it tenderly ; saw 
him examine with scornful scrutiny the large dia- 
mond ring I had placed upon her finger to seal the 
vows of our betrothal ; saw its brilliant scintillations 
flash out in the mellow moonlight, as if to appeal 
against the touch of his traitorous fingers ; without 
emotion, I saw him remove it from her finger and 
place thereon a much larger and brighter one of his 
own. To all this, she, still sobbing, tearfully as- 
sented. I did not feel angry or envious or remorse- 
ful, as I saw him draw her closer and closer to his 
6 


82 


JEAN GRANT. 


side, until her head drooped upon his breast and his 
arm encircled her neck. I could even hear every 
whispering word of endearment with which he tried 
to win her affection. His plan had worked to a 
miracle. She had compromised hei*self. She was 
now completely within his power ; he had only to 
dictate and she would obey ; he had only to sug- 
gest and she would act ; he had only to lead and 
she would follow. 

His demands grew bolder. His voice became 
soft, low and plaintive. I heard him exclaim 
with all the passionate devotion of a rustic mak- 
ing his first proposal — “Jean! Jean! my beau- 
tiful, my dearest ! Let me aid you, let me direct 
you, let me love you! Oh, Jean! At last, 
at last I have found courage and occasion to 
express my love for you ! I love you, I love 
you ! Never man loved woman as I love you ! 
Never woman so lovely, so good, so pure as 
you. Let me call you mine, — mine for life, my 
own, my love, my wife ! Let me shield you 
from the perils of this hour, from the intrigues of a 
designing adventurer, from every rough blast that 
blows across the desert of this ungrateful world. 
To-night — yes; to-night even 7toWy I am prepared 
to make you my wife, my queen ; to make you 
the happiest and most loved wife in this great 
Republic ! '' 

“ Fairest of women ! accept my love, my name. 


JEAN GRANT, 


83 


my fortune ; and be my wife. Do not subject 
yourself to the humiliation of asking an explana- 
tion from Mr. Garland. Of course, he would 
deny it all. Yet, it is true, it is true ! Before 
heaven I have told you the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth. I have taken his ring 
off your finger. I have placed my own upon it. I 
have sealed our affection by a kiss upon your brow. 
Let me call you my wife and seal our love upon 
your lips.'' 

Weak woman! The farce was over. Jean was 
won by another, and I was lost. She turned her 
tear-wet face upwards to receive his fatal kiss, and I 
knew that Jean Grant's life and mine were forever 
separated. 

As soon as he had imprinted the kiss that sealed 
the compact, he said: 

“At once! Veil your face. Accompany me to 
the village. If you remain here, he may come and 
cause trouble. Never mind your wardrobe ! I shall 
procure for you in New York a more gorgeous 
trousseau than the one you leave. In fifteen min- 
utes our carriage shall be ready to start. We shall 
stop at a small village between here and the city 
long enough to be married. Oh, my love! my 
life ! even to-night you shall be my wife ! Come." 

She took his arm. For a moment he paused, and 
saying in a contemptuous tone, “ Like this bauble 
let Arthur Garland's hopes be lost," he threw my 


84 


JEAI^ GRANT. 


ring far down into the pine copse that stood in the 
little valley just outside the lawn. 

My passion rose again. Decision at last came to 
me. In a moment I stood before the horrified pair. 
Jean uttered a loud, piercing scream and sank insen- 
sible to the earth. 

Colonel Windsor stood rooted to the ground, un- 
able, in his petrifaction, to move a muscle. 

Villain ! coward ! betrayer ! I muttered sav- 
agely. 

His senses, after an instant, returned ; his right 
hand stole to his hip pocket. 

I divined his intention, knowing by painful ex- 
perience, his unexampled treachery, and quick as a 
flash, I struck him a terrible blow on the right tem- 
ple with my clenched hand, and as he fell to the 
earth, like a dead man, his cocked revolver dropped 
from his nerveless hand to the grass. I picked it 
up, and, taking it by the muzzle, threw it far down 
into the dark clump of pine into which my ring had 
a few moments before been thrown. 


CHAPTER X. 


I TURNED my face away from this scene of my 
own abasement. I dashed madly along the wide 
gravel path leading to the street. The moon 
nearly full, rode high in the starry dome, and made 
the earth effulgent with her light. It was almost as 
clear as day. As I hurried along toward the gate, 
the faces and figures of the sculptures were dis- 
tinctly visible. These, and every other one of the 
familiar objects, struck my burning imagination 
with indescribable pain, recalling days and scenes 
that never would return ; faces and friends dearer to 
me than my life, now parted forever ; hopes enkin- 
dled by a woman’s love, and shattered by her decep- 
tion. 

Swifter than words can describe, years of happi- 
ness and promise rushed through my heart, through 
my brain, and departed forever, leaving in their 
stead the dregs of hope, the withered leaves of 
blighted promise, the black mausoleum of disap- 
pointed love and the insatiable void of wasted 
affection. As I closed the latch of the gate, and 
took a farewell look at Dunmore’s stately and 
massive form, standing out clear and beautiful, its 


86 


/EAJV GI^ANT, 


glittering turrets reflecting the surpassing grandeur 
of the constellated heavens, I seemed to hear a 
voice, sweet but sad, crying, ‘‘ Come back! come 
back ! Stay thy steps ! Return, and all will be 
well I ” “ In vain ! Too late ! too late ! ” responded 

my sickened heart. 

Onward I dashed down the little hill, at the foot 
of which there stood the sombre, silent, pine-copse, 
with here and there a poplar, its silvery leaves trem- 
bling as if to imitate the twinkling stars. There, 
too, purled the little stream, beside which Jean and 
I had often sat indulging in castle-building, plan- 
ning ever some new and more transporting delight 
for our wedded life. Swollen slightly by the sum- 
mer rains, it gambolled and leaped in mirthful 
music over its pebbly channel, and crept with 
muffled ripple into the slumbering copse. Its music 
and its mirth were the same as of yore, but how 
changed was my heart! How changed was hers! 
Oh, God ! what misery, what spoliation, what tor- 
ture may be inflicted upon one human heart by the 
perversity of another ! 

I crossed the narrow bridge spanning this stream. 
To me, this was the bridge of fate. How often, in 
boyhood’s happy hours, had my fro ward feet crossed 
and recrossed its narrow span. How little did I then 
think that this insignificant structure should mark 
the two great turning points of my life. Here had 
I been waylaid and left for dead. From here I 


JEAN GRANT, 


87 


had been carried to Dunmore to be nursed by the 
woman whose love I wished to win. Her love I 
had won — perhaps her affected love merely — I will 
not say, I will not judge. I now crossed this bridge 
for the last time, having failed in everything, having 
lost all. This bridge, once crossed, separated me, 
by more than a metaphor, from Dunmore, from 
Jean, forever. 

A sudden impulse seized me. I must stand on 
this spot for a minute or two. I must, for one 
brief memorable moment, stand on this fatal spot, 
and let the thoughts which its association conjured 
up, throng on me as they would. I did so. That 
moment seemed like an awful dream, a phantasma- 
goria of woe and hate and envy and deformity. 

I turned to continue my walk towards the village, 
but I walked as one not knowing whither he went. 
I was walking in a dream, a terrible dream, such as 
Dante depicted in his immortal “ Inferno.*' 

I was vaguely aware that a carriage containing 
two ladies, stopped in front of me, and that I heard 
and recognized the voices of Mrs. Sherman and 
Leonore addressing me. I heard them calling rriy 
name in accents of terror and surprise. What else 
they said I remember not. What I did or how I 
answered them, I know not. 

By some strange instinct, I staggered on to the 
depot, and boarded the city-bound train. I threw 
myself into a seat and sank into night's oblivion. 


CHAPTER XI. 


For a month, I lay in a state of unconsciousness, 
my mind raging with the delirium of typhoid. 
When I came to myself, I occupied a private ward 
in a New York hospital. For some time my mind 
seemed wrapt in clouds and mists. I could not 
realize my position. I spoke to the nurse. ‘‘Pray 
good lady,*' I said, “how came I hither? What 
place is this? Observation informs me that it is a 
hospital. But what brought me here? Have I been 
sick? Have I been the victim of an accident? 
What has been the matter ? What is the name of 
this place ? ’* 

“ Pray sir, do not let these trifles give you any 
concern. You have been ill — very ill. I shall tell 
you no more at present. In a few days, when you 
will have recovered more of your strength, 1 shall 
answer all your questions. I shall consider it a 
pleasing duty. At present, Mr. Garland, I must 
insist upon rest and silence as the proper course 
for you.*’ 

“ Mr. Garland ? ** I muttered to myself. “How 
does she know my name ? ** 

Turning my pleasantest and most beseeching 


/EAJV GRANT. 


89 


look upon the girl who, by the way seemed fair, 
gentle, and sympathetic to a fault, I pleaded — My 
dear young lady, you are very kind. I am very 
glad, whatever my misfortune has been, to have had 
so efficient a nurse. And now, I crave at your 
hands a favor, an indulgence. There are some hor- 
rid, confused thoughts in my brain which will drive 
me mad, unless I get them cleared up. Tell me, no 
matter at what cost to myself, where I am, and how 
I came to this place?'’ 

‘‘ Indeed, sir, I would much rather not. I must 
not transgress my instructions. But I may say 
that you are in New York. Nearly a month ago, 
I understand, you were found in a Pullman coach 
which reached the city, in a dying condition. You 
had been stricken down on your journey, by a most 
malignant type of typhoid. The next day, a young 
gentleman by the name of Wentworth brought you 
here. He said he was a relative of yours. He bade 
us spare no pains or expense in restoring you to 
health. He remained for a fortnight or more in the 
city, and called to inquire for you several times 
daily. As soon as you were pronounced out of 
danger, he returned home. Each morning's post 
brings a letter of inquiry from him which I answer 
by the evening mail. His address is Seaton— Mr. 
George Wentworth, Seaton, N. Y." 

“ Wentworth ! Wentworth ! Seaton ! George 
Wentworth, Seaton ! Ah ! " I gasped, clutching my 


90 


/EAJV GEANT. 


forehead in my burning palms. Slowly, link b}’ 
link, the horrible phantom revealed itself. George 
Wentworth ! Seaton ! Dunmore ! Leonore Sherman ! 
Jean Grant! Ah! That’s a terrible pang! Jean 
Grant ! What is it ? Oh, my brain will burst while 
I wrestle with some slow — returning memory. 
What ! what ! Ah, that’s it. Now, now, I’ve got it ! 
Jean Grant, my Jean! My beloved, my own, my 
darling Jean! Ah, what a solace in that thought! 
My brain is cool once more ! The fever has left me. 
I remember a]l now,” I said to my nurse who sat 
near by patiently watching me. I remember all.” 

“That is well,” she smilingly replied, you will 
rest better now.” 

“Yes; it is well! it is well. Where is Jean? 
Why is she not here ? Ah, how strange ! We were 
to have been married ! Why not married ? Why not ? 
Could she be false? Had I a rival? No; not now. 
I had once. Who? Colonel Windsor! Colonel 
Windsor! By heaven, I will kill him! He has 
robbed me of my love. He has ruined me. Now, 
now, I have it indeed ! I will kill him ! I will kill 
him,” I shouted at the top of my voice, .springing 
from my bed in the strength of my paroxysm. 

Once more, I relapsed into unconsciousness. It 
was long before I had completely regained my 
bodily strength and mental tone. Over and over 
again, I studied the strange experiences I had 
passed through at Seaton. I wondered if Jean had 


/EAAT GRANT. 


91 


fled with her guilty abductor. I wondered if Mrs. 
Sherman and Leonore had become acquainted with 
the facts of the case. Did they know the cause of 
my sudden departure from Seaton ? Was it not pos- 
sible that my action might have been misconstrued? 

George Wentworth called on me several times in 
the hospital, but we never allowed our conversation 
to touch that painful subject. He was too consider- 
ate of my feelings ; I, too proud to refer to it. 

Yet I would have given my right arm to know 
what happened at Dunmore after I left, and what 
interpretation my friends, and the world at large, 
had put upon my conduct. How should I find out ? 
I was at my wit’s ends. Suddenly, I thought of the 
press ; of the omniscient eye and the omnipresent 
pen of the modern reporter. I despatched a mes- 
senger for the leading city papers of the date of my 
departure from Seaton, and waited impatiently for 
his return. I was not disappointed. The Herald's 
description of the affair was — 

ELOPEMENT. 

AN EXCITING ROMANCE AT SEATON. 

How a Gilded, Unscrupulous Adventurer from the 
South Captured the Belle and Richest 
Heiress of the Village. 

An Engagement Broken— A Valuable Trousseau thrown 
aside— A Lover Driven Mad, while a Dashing 
Fop carries off the Prize. 


92 


JEAN GRANT. 


Seaton. — A most exciting romance has just 
happened in this village. Mrs. Sherman and her two 
daughters, Jean and Leonore, are the wealthiest 
family in the county. Jean and Leonore are very 
beautiful, and are reputed to be worth a million 
each. Jean has for several years been engaged to 
Arthur Garland, the highly esteemed son of an old 
resident of this place. He struck luck in the Cali- 
fornia gold mines, and returned for his bride. 
Everything was ready for the wedding on Wednes- 
day of this week. The guests were all invited and 
the trousseau, which is said to be gorgeous, was 
fully completed, and sent down from New York 
last night. 

“ A few days ago a dashing young Southerner, 
with splendid black eyes, good appearance and ad- 
dress, and any amount of cheek, fine clothes and 
jewelry, struck the town, ostensibly on official 
business. He soon sized up the town. Learning of 
Mrs. Sherman’s circumstances, he manipulated mat- 
ters so as to procure an introduction to her and her 
daughters. He laid siege to Jean’s heart and 
stormed that citadel successfully. He dubbed him- 
self ‘ Colonel,’ talked a great deal of twaddle about 
his birth, parentage and so on, and occasionally 
hinted, with affected modesty, of his immense 
wealth and influence. At last Jean succumbed to 
his persistence. While her mother and sister were 
out of town last evening, she eloped with the ‘Col- 
onel.’ But the most exciting part is to follow. 
Young Garland was on his way to Mrs. Sherman’s 
to spend the evening with Jean, when he met his 
faithless sweetheart just starting off with ‘ Colonel ’ 
Windsor. Jean fainted, and Garland, who has plenty 
of muscle and pluck, pitched into Windsor and gave 


JEAN GRANT. 


93 


him a tremendous thrashing. Garland then took the 
night train for New York, and the despatches of this 
morning say that he has become mentally deranged. 
Windsor gathered up what was left of himself and 
his bride, drove to New York and was married last 
night. The affair has evoked mtense excitement in 
the little village. All sorts of rumors are afloat. 
One is to the effect that Garland once worsted 
Windsor in a duel and that the latter has now had 
his revenge. Much sympathy is felt for young 
Garland, who is a universal favorite, and the opinion 
is freely expressed that this beautiful young heiress 
has rejected a very worthy and promising young 
gentleman and has absolutely thrown herself away 
on a worthless adventurer.” 


From this off-hand synopsis, not strictly in 
accordance with the facts of the case in every par- 
•ticular, yet setting forth in a general way its main 
features, I learned that the impression left on the 
public mind was favorable, and, I may say, just, 
towards me. Colonel ” Windsor was characterized 
in language indicating that he was known to the 
public as a notorious, not to say infamous, charac- 
ter. Doubtless, the additional facts necessary to do 
complete justice to my conduct, would long ere 
this, have been disclosed to Leonore and her mother, 
by George Wentworth. I cared little whether or 
not every particular became known to the public, as 
I should never again show my face where I was 
known ; but I zvas solicitous, intensely solicitous, 


94 


JEAN GRANT. 


that my good friends at Dunmore should be in the 
possession of the whole truth. Their good opinion 
was the only thing, along with the friendship of 
Wentworth, which I now wished to cherish. On 
the whole, I was not displeased with the reports 
circulated by the newspapers. They declared that 
I was mentally deranged. This would make the 
public which has no faculty for expending thought 
on lunatics or imbeciles, discard me from its mind 
as if I were dead ; dead to the public mind, I 
w^ould soon be forgotten, and, in this way, would be 
enabled to make a new start in life. 

Indeed, such an experience as I had passed 
through, re-creates a man. I was a new man in 
all but name. I was starting out with a new birth, 
a new complexion stamped upon my very nature, 
new hopes, new ambitions, a new religion even, as 
far as my relation to my fellow-men was concerned. 
But I must go where I was not known, where my 
presence and my name would not revive odious 
comparisons and painful memories. 

I saw Wentworth frequently. From him I 
learned that the whole truth of the affair was 
known to Leonore and her mother. I had their 
sympathy. They wished me to come and see them. 
They were heart-broken. Jean's conduct had dis- 
graced them. They had lost all trace of her. The 
pair had been seen in New York. Further than 
that nothing was known about them. Colonel 


/EAjV grant. 


9S 


Windsor was not enrolled on the army list. Went- 
worth believed, with me, that Jean had fallen into a 
dangerous alliance. Leonore and her mother had 
tried in vain to ascertain her whereabouts. 

** By Jove, Garland,'* said Wentworth, I had no 
idea my joke would prove so very distressing. He 
thinks he has married an heiress ; when he finds out 
his mistake, he may send her home penniless and 
disgraced ; there is nothing vile he would not do ; 
he may even kill her ! " 

I was too indifferent to speculate. I only list- 
ened. I decided to get out of New York as soon 
as I could do so. Of my intentions I gave Went- 
worth no inkling. If I wished him to know where 
I was, I could write him ; otherwise I would be 
absent, forgotten — dead to the world ! 


CHAPTER XIL 


I LEFT New York and took passage for Cali- 
fornia. I visited my former haunts. Those of my 
old friends who still remained to the fore, were 
much struck with my changed condition of mind 
and actions. They exercised their curiosity in vain. 

This time, I was not seeking to augment my 
wealth. My income was now more than adequate 
to a life of travel, and my idea was to pass from 
country to country, kill time as best I could, and 
await with indifference life’s final doom. I formed 
no new friendships. Society had no meaning to 
me. I had little faith in man, and none at all in 
woman. The more beautiful the woman, the more 
she disgusted me ; and the smile of a female turned 
my heart into fire. I had no object in life. Even 
my scheme of wandering was of the vaguest possi- 
ble character. I had no plan laid out. I knew not 
when I should leave one part of the earth for 
another. It might be in a day, in a month or in a 
year. I had no guide in such matters, save impulse 
or, vagary, if you like. I knew not what country I 
should next visit. My ideas of right and wrong 
had become confused. Sunday might find me 


JEAN GRANT, 97 

attending divine worship, Monday find me gambling 
at faro. 

After spending several months in the Golden 
State, I stepped aboard the mail steamer, Gra?id 
Pacificy bound for Melbourne, Australia. As the 
vessel swings from the pier, I see among the crowd 
that wafts us their adieux a tall, dark man, standing 
with his side face towards me, addressing a lady. 
It looks like Colonel Windsor. I strain my eyes. He 
turns towards me. It is he! The lady? I see her 
clearly. Young, fair, smiling, but it is not his wife ; 
it is not Jean. Poor Jean ! your punishment there- 
fore is greater, I fear, than you can bear ! ” 

Arrived in that great isolated continent, I made 
a rapid survey of it, passing from Melbourne to 
Sydney, thence to Brisbane, thence back to Ade- 
laide, thence to Perth, whence I sailed around the 
western and northern coasts and spent a few days 
in the small Dutch settlement at the extreme south 
of New Guinea. From there, I took ship for 
British India ; and, after visiting points of interest 
in nearly every country of Asia and Europe, I at 
last found myself in the capital of the world, Lon- 
don. 

My travel had done something to restore my 
shattered energies. I felt stronger and better than 
ever before. I visited every place of amusement 
that came in my way in the four continents I had 
traversed, and had taken a turn, merely for the sake 
7 


98 


/EAJV GRANT, 


of inspection, at every gambling table from San 
Francisco to Monaco, with the result of swelling 
my income beyond my desire. Fortune seems 
often most generous to a reckless spendthrift. I 
was bent on lavishly squandering my income, but 
the more prodigally I threw my money away, the 
more indulgently fortune showered her profuse 
offerings at my feet. 

On reaching Melbourne I had wired Wentworth 
that Colonel Windsor was in- San Francisco. But 
I gave no address and had heard nothing further 
from Seaton. Now that my morbid melancholy 
was cured, I wrote a long letter to Wentworth 
giving him an account of my travels. I received 
his reply; a long, interesting letter, full of cor- 
dial greetings. He was prospering. Jean had 
not been seen or heard of since her w^edding 
day. Colonel Windsor could not be traced. Went- 
worth had gone to the Pacific in quest of the 
strange pair. In vain ; foul play was now strongly 
suspected. Leonore and her mother were in great 
sorrow. 

There was one part of the earth which I wished 
to visit. My desire, unaccountable as it was, to 
visit the island of New Guinea, was the strongest 
I had experienced since leaving Seaton. While 
passing through Torres Straits, our ship had an- 
chored for a day or two to allow us to have a 
passing glimpse of the matchless shore of this 


/EAAT GRANT. 99 

island. The impression it made on my mind was 
one of gorgeous splendor. 

By my glowing descriptions of this region, and 
my offering to furnish all necessary funds, I was 
soon able to organize a small expedition to explore 
the interior of this, the richest and wildest island in 
the world. When a man loses faith in his kind, it 
is a relief for him to dwell among the most savage 
and uncivilized tribes and to have his feet rest upon 
solitary shores where the foot of man has never 
before trod. 

Dr. George Parks, a young English physician with 
an eccentric but brilliant intellect, accompanied the 
expedition. His hobby was insanity and kindred 
diseases. He had read a great deal and had some 
new and startling theories of his own. About my 
own age and a little inclined to be ascetic, he and I 
grew to be warm friends. He diagnosed my own 
mental condition with accuracy. His careful study 
in the hospitals and asylums of the Continent en- 
abled him to relate some weird, uncanny stories to 
which I often listened for hours at a time with ab- 
sorbing interest. 

Through the Straits of Gibraltar; across the 
Mediterranean ; through the Suez Canal ; into the 
Red Sea ; out again through the Strait of Bab-el- 
Mandeb ; into the Indian Ocean, across which we 
sailed into the Malayan Archipelago, we at length 
moored at the foot of the towering, irreg- 


lOO 


JEAN GRANT. 


ular mountain-chain which guards the coast of 
Papua. 

We spent some time among the Dutch and Chi- 
nese inhabitants who occupy the narrow, explored 
belt of the island, lying near the shore, whose sole 
industry seems to be to outrival the Malays in the 
occupation of obtaining edible birds’ nests. As 
soon as we had ingratiated ourselves into their 
favor, we ventured to move gradually towards the 
unexplored interior. 

Dr. Parks and I were in our tent packing up for 
our venturesome excursion. I was going through 
some old papers when a small photograph fell from 
their folds. Dr. Parks picked it up with a smile, 
looked at it, then at me, and as he handed it to me 
the smile left his face. I looked at it. “Jean's 
photo!" Taken the day of our engagement! It 
had lain among this rubbish when I thought I had 
destroyed everything that would remind me of her. 
As I looked at it, my face grew stern. I was going 
to throw it away. I looked at Dr. Parks. He was 
standing looking into my face with a look I could 
not understand. I did not wish to let him into my 
past, so I placed the picture between the leaves of 
the “Traveller's Guide." Dr. Parks still riveted 
me with his mysterious gaze. I was annoyed. 

“Well?" I said to him not very civilly. 

“Well," he replied without taking his eyes from 
my face. “ Who is it ? " 


/EAJV GRANT, 


lOI 


‘‘ A woman ! ’’ I answered. 

‘‘ Know her? ” 

‘‘Yes; do you?” I answered, losing my temper 
and speaking insolently. 

“Yes!” he answered to my surprise. It was 
now my turn to stare at him. 

He turned and walked out of the tent. I did not 
believe him. “ He is only trying to draw me out,” 
I thought. 

Thereafter, I used to often find the doctor study- 
ing my face with that strange inquiring look. 
Sometimes he seemed more kind and brotherly, as 
if he had read the deep abiding sorrow of my life. 
At others he seemed to regard me with suspicion 
and distrust, as if he believed me guilty of some 
great crime. His moods were to me a mystery. 

The beauty of scenery which met our gaze baffles 
description. The even coast of this vast equatorial 
island-continent, washed by the tepid waters of the 
great tropical ocean, now rushing in tidal waves of 
enormous height into narrow channels, between the 
myriad islands that comprise the huge archipelago, 
now sweeping in broad expanses along the un- 
broken contour, presents features of physical 
beauty and exuberant vegetation, in some respects, 
unequalled in the world. Nowhere else does 
nature revel in such magnificent hues and fascinat- 
ing beauty; every tree drops the most luscious 
fruit ; flowers bedeck the fruitful soil, making the 


102 


JEAN GRANT, 


earth a velvet carpet, and climbing up the fruit- 
laden trees, cluster like constellations among the 
dense green foliage. 

Insects, radiant with the most brilliant colors, 
glitter from every object, as they move from place 
to place, like millions of animated gems. Yonder 
is the bird of paradise, that strange and most gor- 
geous of feathered songsters, whose pride of celes- 
tial birth will permit it to call no other spot in all 
the wide earth its home. Beware! here at our feet 
is a monster boa, whose gigantic curves and folds lie 
almost concealed amidst the kaleidoscopic blossoms 
whose startlingly bright colors outshine its own. 
Only this morning I awoke with a huge python 
twelve feet long comfortably coiled up on the earth 
scarcely a foot from my pillow. Here, too, is that 
strange hybrid capable of swimming in the air, — the 
flying frog ; and here dwells the fierce mias which 
has given rise to so much scientific speculation as to 
the origin of our race, and whose strength is so 
great that no animal in the jungle dare attack it 
but the crocodile and the python, both of which it 
literally tears to pieces. 

Such wild, surpassing and altogether unusual 
sights and experiences lent a hew interest to my 
self-outlawed life, and added to the desire I felt to 
penetrate into the heart of the island. 

My companions besides Dr. Parks were three 
young Englishmen. Two of them had seen 


/EAAT GRAATT, 


103 


much of the world, yet they declared that there 
were no such scenes to be witnessed in any other 
land. 

We lived, for the most part, on the excellent food 
procured by beating and washing the wood of the 
sago palm until the pith is separated from the 
trunk. It is afterwards, by a process of kneading, 
evaporating and baking, made into delicious bread 
and cakes. 

As we moved inland, we experienced no little 
difficulty in our dealings with the native Papuans 
who are said to be the most unique race of the 
earth. In color, they resemble the negro ; in fea- 
tures, the Caucasian. Their noses are wide at the 
nostrils and aquiline. They wear no clothes ex- 
cepting a primitive garb of palm leaves, loosely fas- 
tened together. Without religion, without its sub- 
stitute, superstition, without any belief in a here- 
after, without laws, they are notwithstanding a 
happy and contented people, free from vice and 
scrupulously honest. 

The native grace and physical development of 
the men far excel that of any nation civilized or un- 
civilized of modern times ; compared to these, the 
models of Grecian sculpture which so fascinate the 
imagination of the visitor to the Parthenon, dwin- 
dle into insignificance. We found the females, 
however, poorly-clad, dwarfed little creatures, 
owing, chiefly, to early marriage, which prevails on 


104 


JEAN GRANT. 


the island to such an extent that girls are often 
given in wedlock at the age of ten and twelve years. 

It was now the month of May. We were anx- 
ious to get as far as possible into the interior and 
return by the first of September in order to avoid 
the fatal east monsoon. It was a hazardous jour- 
ney to undertake, no traveller having hitherto pene- 
trated the island more than fifteen miles from the 
coast. But what cared I ? I feared no danger, 
since death would have been as dear to me as life. 
I had no friends to mourn over my untimely de- 
cease. I was lost to love, friendship and acquain- 
tance. But I rejoiced when I found a new and 
worthy ambition rising in my breast, an ambition 
to explore this most beautiful spot of earth. 

My companions were daring fellows. About 
twenty miles from the west coast of the island, we 
came upon a broad, clear, swift-flowing river. 
From its vast volume, and the gestures of the na- 
tives, we concluded that this river must have its 
source many hundreds of miles inland. We im- 
provised a craft, and sailed up its course. Slowly, 
day after day, we moved through the most enraptur- 
ing scenic wonderland. 

The beautifully clear waters of the river, winding 
its serpentine course between its verdurous banks, 
where luxuriant clusters of wild, brilliant-hued blos- 
soms, white, blue, red, sparkled like prismatic fires 
from the copious foliage, and high up, among the 


/EAN GRANT. 


lOS 


shrubbery, the tall acacia and the magnificent 
orange flower hung their drooping heads like clus- 
ters of snow and gold ; the towering forests so 
dense that the richly-hued birds could not fly 
through them, but fluttered from bough to bough 
like moving stars in the blue heavens; the immeas- 
urable fields of variegated flowers, thousands of 
acres in extent, through which we passed, and the 
multitudinous varieties of animal life which we 
daily saw disporting on the banks of the beautiful 
stream, threw an indescribable charm around what- 
ever hardships our voyage entailed. 

When about one hundred miles inland, we met a 
Dyak princess. She was reclining, alone on the 
right bank of the river, and did not notice our 
approach, until we were quite near her. On seeing 
us, she sprang to her feet, her features expressing 
profound amazement. She was for a woman of her 
race lovely. Her features, though large were clear- 
cut, and delicately formed. Her eyes were large, 
round, clear and black. Her body seemed the per- 
fection of womanly grace and beauty. Her hair 
hung loosely around her naked shoulders. Her 
arms and bust were bare and shone like polished 
ebony. Her head was covered with a small turban, 
consisting apparently of one piece of fabric wound 
in a spiral form. Directly in front of this toque a 
small crown of gold graced her broad forehead. 
Enormous gold ear-rings hung from her ears. 


I06 JEAN GRANT, 

They seemed the shape of, and almost as large as 
saucers. Her necklace was formed of enormous 
nuggets of pure gold. Eight bangles of gold 
adorned each wrist. Above each elbow, she wore 
an armlet of gold about the thickness of a large 
walking cane ; and three smaller bracelets of gold 
embraced each arm near the shoulder ; in addition 
to these ornaments, she wore large, golden anklets 
and bore in her right hand a golden sceptre, not 
unlike the shape of a small oar. One wondered 
how she could carry about such a weight of metal. 

For a moment only she stood scanning us, and 
then, lifting her hands towards heaven, she uttered 
a strange, moaning cry, and fell prostrate to the 
earth, with her hands clasped above her head. We 
approached her, and did our best to ingratiate our- 
selves into her favor ; for we perceived that she 
was the daughter of a royal house, and that her 
opposition might easily prove fatal to our expedi- 
tion. She informed us that her father, the king, 
lived but a few miles away, that she had come to 
the river to meet her lover and invited us to lodge 
at the palace. We did so. 

The palace was rich and designed with taste and 
skill. The old king was hospitable. Through our 
interpreter we learned that he had in his day been a 
great warrior. He attributed much of his success 
to his daughter, who since childhood had been a 
sorceress. 


JEAN GRANT, 


107 


Dr. Parks and I had her tell our fortunes. This 
she did in the presence of the royal household who, 
notwithstanding our smiles, viewed the occasion as 
one of great solemnity. ‘‘You have never loved; 
you are strange ; you are married to yourself,’' she 
said to Dr. Parks as she read his palm. 

To me she said : “ You are a traveller ; no home ; 
no friends; you are very sad. You are looking for 
some lost one. Your heart has been burned by 
love. You will not find. You will travel for a 
long time. You are in danger of your life. A 
strong man wants to kill you. She whose love 
burned your heart is in darkness. She is calling for 
you, she will die if you do not go to her. Your 
heart still loves her, but you are proud and would 
not speak to her. She is in prison and has no 
friends. If you will seek her you may yet have 
peace. Your stubborn mind has caused you to 
lose your best friends.” 

A few days after, I found Dr. Parks studying 
Jean’s photograph, which he had taken from the 
directory. “ That photograph interests you ! ” I 
said. “ It does ; you also. You are a married man. 
Garland, ” he said suspiciously. 

“ I have not the honor,” I answered. 

We continued our course, our interest redoubled, 
on having learned that the king’s inestimable treas- 
ures had been derived from the source of the river. 
As we ascended the river, we came in contact with 


io8 


JEAN GRANT. 


various Dyak tribes, each governed by an elective 
king. The scenery, if possible, became more luxu- 
riantly rich ; the birds and insects more brilliant ; 
and the kings and their ministers became still more 
sumptuously attired and equipped. 

Strength became more and more the shibboleth 
of sovereignty. The air became more attenuated, 
and the tints of the blossoms more delicate. The 
sound of the mingling voices of the birds at morn- 
ing and evening twilight, was an orchestra that has 
never been equalled since the world began. 

At length, we descried, directly to the east, the 
snow-capped peaks of a lofty mountain range, the 
feeder of the beautiful river we were navigating. 
On, on ! with renewed hopes, pressed we towards 
our goal. 

It was about the first of August, when we 
reached the source of the stream which we found to 
be a lake of considerable size, beautifully blue and 
placid, and swarming with every species of Malayan 
aquatic birds, situated, our instruments told us, 
almost in the heart of New Guinea, right at the foot 
of a chain of mountains twenty thousand feet in 
height. We spent some weeks coasting around this 
lake which we named Beautiful. At the extremity 
of a long, narrow bay which formed its southern 
extension, we came across vast ruins which showed 
the traces of an extinct civilization ; forts, palaces, 
temples, aqueducts, amphitheatres and sculptured 


/EAJ\r GRANT. 


109 


figures betraying the most delicate and cultured 
skill. About a mile to the south, on a plateau, 
stood the ruins of a magnificent temple, surrounded 
by terraces and hanging gardens. The ascent to 
the temple, which stood ten thousand feet above 
the surface of the plain, consisted of ten flights of 
steps cut in the solid stone of the mountain side. 

This gigantic structure was a profound mystery 
to the natives, as it was to us, but it, as well as 
many other ruins which we saw in the interior, 
afforded abundant evidence of the fact that at some 
time, far back in the past, the Papuans boasted of 
a refined and aggressive civilization which the dete- ' 
riorating progress of time had trampled to the 
earth. 

Here, a few days after, we were rejoined, much 
to our astonishment and dismay, by the Dyak 
Princess whose guest we had been several hundreds 
of miles below. She was accompanied by a body- 
guard of dusky warriors. 

The name of this princess was Guan. She had 
fallen in love with my handsome, flaxen-haired, 
English companion. Dr. Parks. This afforded us 
infinite amusement for a time, but, in the end, 
great annoyance and trouble. 

Guan was politeness itself. She showed us many 
new sights and wonders, the most marvellous of 
which was what the natives called the mountain 
of gold,'* whence they* had drawn the abundance of 


no 


JEAN GRANT. 


their wealth and ornament. It appeared to be sev- 
eral hundred feet high and projected like an im- 
mense abscess from the side of the snow-covered 
mountain. 

Englishmen and Americans are exceedingly alike 
in one thing at least, — their love for gold. The 
first question which struck each of us was, how we 
could have this mountain removed to London or 
New York. 

By the time we were ready to leave, we had 
stuffed our pockets, and the seams of our garments 
and our high boot-legs, with chips of the precious 
metal, and were walking about like animated bags 
of stones. 

Guan had shown us everything. She now made 
her request known. She would marry Dr. Parks. 
Her demand was made with all the imperious pomp 
and haughtiness of a Princess fully aware of her 
sovereign power. 

Poor Parks ! he had been very patient with 
Guan. He had silently endured, day after day, her 
affectionate caresses and embraces. He jocosely 
answered our taunts by saying that it was not every 
Englishman who had a wealthy princess to pop the 
question to him. 

He tried temporizing. In vain. Her demand 
was peremptory. Dr. Parks for once looked non- 
plussed. The most serious part of it was that she 
had sufficient force at her ‘command to compel 


JEAN GRANT. 


Ill 


obedience to her wishes. We were given a day to 
consider the point. Dr. Parks was a strong-headed, 
cold-blooded Englishman. He would not yield. 
We were all made prisoners, and preparations were 
made for our execution next morning. 

Matters had reached a crisis. We spent the 
night in a hut made of bamboo and thatch. It 
reminded me of the Black Hole, the air was so hot 
and stifling. 

I slept for a few moments, and dreamed that I 
saw George Wentworth standing on the little bridge 
at Seaton. He was wounded in the breast and 
bleeding terribly. He spoke to me. ‘'Garland, 
my dear friend, I am dying ; I am murdered by 
Colonel Windsor. That was a fatal joke. It is all 
over with me. Poor Leonore ! to-morrow was our 
wedding-day. Give me your hand, my dear old 
boy. Be good to Leonore. Remember me.*' 
And then he fell dead in my arms. 

Morning came. Parks was unbending. Our 
doom was read. Our chains were tightened. A 
huge bonfire was prepared on which our bodies 
were to be sacrificed — no, not sacrificed, for these 
people have no religion, not even idolatry, but 
simply burnt. 

“ Garland, dying men have no secrets,** said Dr. 
Parks; “ tell me what troubles you so. Tell me all 
about the woman whose photograph you keep, yet 
care so little for. Is she not your wife ? ** 


JEAN GRANT. 


I 12 

“ I am not married ; I have nothing to tell that 
would interest you/' 

“You are mistaken. I am interested in studying 
out your case. I would die easier to have bot- 
tomed it." 

A genuine Briton," I thought. “ This imper- 
turbable genius would like to have a smoke and a 
drink of whiskey on the scaffold, if he were going 
to be hanged." 

“ You said you knew this lady, Dr. Parks." 

“ So I do, Garland ! " 

“ Then what is the use of my telling you any- 
thing about her." 

“ Because I would learn something about your- 
self." 

‘‘ Thanks for your interest in me." 

“ Moonshine !" I said to myself. “ He thinks he 
can pump me so easily." 

If I ask you one straight question. Garland, will 
you give me an honest answer? " 

‘‘Ask it and see," I replied, smiling at the Doc- 
tor’s eleventh-hour persistency. 

“Well, this is the question: Is your true name 
Arthur Garland ? " 

“ It is ; but why in the name of all that is good 
do you ask me such an absurd question ? " 

“Very strange!" he muttered to himself, and 
the conversation ended. 

But the Doctor’s strange questions, and Guan’s 


lEAN GRANT. 


II3 

horoscope of my life repainted the old scenes on 
my memory. In the darkness, in my fears of 
approaching death, in my dreams, I saw nothing 
but Jean Grant’s lovely face ; it was pale, 
wretched, sad, but appealing and still beautiful. 
She stood before me in an attitude of supplication 
with uplifted hands and upturned eyes crying out, 
^‘Come back Arthur!” Come back I and all will 
be well 1 ” 

8 


CHAPTER XIII. 


And so my end had at last come. With my 
gallant and much-loved comrades I was to perish in 
the heart of this beautiful land, a martyr to no 
cause, a sacrifice to no deity. 

All at once, life seemed for me to regain its lost 
sweetness and interest. My mind had for months 
been so engrossed with the surprising loveliness of 
the scenes about me as to have recovered from its 
former depression. I now wished to live ; wished 
to devote my life to the exploration of this island 
and to making known its manifold resources to the 
world. In this way I could benefit my kind and 
live a higher and more unselfish life than I had 
mapped out for myself even in my brighter days. 

If I were only free, if I were only in New York, 
how easily could I form an exploring party well 
supplied with baubles for the savage inhabitants ; 
armed with the authority of the great Republic, 
with the Stars and Stripes flaunting from our masts 
we could ascend this nameless, navigable river to its 
source, and take possession in the name of the 
United States of these stupendous ruins. Lake 
Beautiful, and Golden Mountain.'* Nowhere, so 


/EAAT GRANT. 1 1 5 

far as I know, has gold been found on the surface 
of the earth and in such quantity as here. 

‘‘ To die in the midst of such prospects ! For no 
cause! To perish to gratify a whim of this savage 
Princess! It cannot be ! It must not be! Some- 
thing must be done. How I wished I were only 
handsome enough to marry her myself. What 
odds! It would only be a joke. If the practical 
side of it should bear too severely on Guan, she 
would have herself to blame for it. I set my 
ingenuity to work. But the time was getting 
short. 

I threatened, coaxed and cursed Dr. Parks. 

For heaven’s sake ! ” I exclaimed, ‘‘ marry her, no 
matter what it may cost you; elope with her; 
shoot yourself ; do anything rather than have us 
who are innocent of the offence of personal beauty 
become a sacrifice for yours. What prompted 
me to allow a dude from Piccadilly, an Oscar 
Wilde to accompany us ! ” 

Dr. Parks was uncompromising. I will die,” he 
said, “ if it will save the lives of you fellows ; I will 
shoot myself ; I will do anything but marry this 
wench.” 

But I had underrated the resources of this cool, 
immovable Englishman. 

The moment arrived. We were summoned to our 
fate. We determined to die like soldiers. Each of 
us had a revolver and could use it well. If every 


ii6 


/EAAT GRAATT. 


Other resource failed, we would use them ; but the 
chances even then were against us, as each- of the 
warriors was armed with a sword and a long sharp 
spear. 

We got down on our knees and implored for 
mercy. They merely laughed at us. 

“ The Princess and Prophetess must be obeyed!*' 

We threatened them with the terrible vengeance 
of the two mightiest nations of the earth. To no 
effect. 

We asked them to postpone this burning business 
until we returned with them to Guan’s palace, 
where it could be performed with proper pomp. 
They remained unmoved. 

We offered them toys, money, alliances, pipes 
and tobacco for our ransom, all of which they ac- 
cepted apparently as a matter of course, but con- 
tinued as blood-thirsty as ever. 

I offered to wed the fairQ) Guan. Her choice 
was made. She was evidently determined to marry 
Parks or not at all. 

Our resources were about exhausted. 

Suddenly, Dr. Parks fell down, to all appearances, 
dead as a stone. He was something of an actor 
anyway, but never before had I so admired the act- 
ing of himself or any other as now. Irving and 
Booth were discounted. Restoratives were applied 
to no purpose. We seized the opportunity. We 
announced that he was dead. The warriors were 


/£AJV GRANT, 


II7 

disappointed, but had some doubts as to whether or 
not the rest of us should be burnt. Guan threw 
herself on the prostrate form of her dead idol ana 
moaned, sobbed and wept pitifully;. So did our 
party. We rose equal to the occasion and managed 
to pretend unspeakable sorrow and bitter tears. 

Guan decreed that our lives should be spared. 

Preparations were commenced for the descent of 
the river. We carried Dr. Parks on a rudely devised 
litter to the lake and deposited his living remains in 
a quiet corner of our boat. 

The Papuans had a fleet of five small boats. 
"■They proceeded ahead, Guan's delicate craft, which 
was a perfect marvel of lightness, strength and 
elegance, leading. It recalled the lines of Shake- 
peare, 

“ The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, 

Burn’d on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; 

Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that 
The winds were love-sick with them ; the oars were silver, 
Which to the time of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water, which they beat, to follow faster, 

As amorous of their strokes.” 

Our swarthy companions drew some distance 
ahead, so that we were, without detection, able to 
give our corpse food and drink. He also enjoyed 
an occasional smoke and declared that he rather 
enjoyed being a corpse under the circumstances. 

Pm like Pat,*' he continued, I'd rather be 


Il8 JEAN GRANT. 

alive five minutes than dead all the rest of my 
life.** 

But we were not out of danger, and jokes were 
scarcely in order. We wondered what we should 
do with the lively remains during the night, for we 
knew Guan would spend the night by their side ; 
and the role of acting dead for about ten hours 
was a difficult one, even for Dr. Parks to assume. 
Besides, we could no longer account for the 
warmth of the body, and it was safe to presume 
that even barbarians know that dead men grow 
cold. 

Dr. Parks devised a scheme which worked to a 
demonstration. As soon as our boats were moored, 
early in the evening, I sprang ashore, seized a 
bottle of cognac, took a swig out of it, and imme- 
diately began dancing, laughing and giving other 
evidences of excessive hilarity. My comrades, with 
the exception of the corpse, followed suit. For a 
few minutes, we danced, wrestled, sang, somer- 
saulted like a band of maniacs, not forgetting to 
interperse our exercises with loud, uproarious 
laughter. We passed the bottle from one to an- 
other rapidly, and pretended to drink deeply from 
its contents each time, though in reality, we only 
touched our tongues to it. 

The concert was much appreciated by the Dyaks, 
who are naturally humorous, and especially by 
Guan. They requested to be allowed to partici- 


JEAN GRANT. 


II9 

pate in our joyous festivities. We acceded to their 
request. Half a dozen more bottles were brought 
from the boat. Our friends drank it with much 
relish. In a few minutes, Guan showed symptoms 
of having taken decidedly too much, and acted in a 
manner scarcely becoming to a princess. 

Around went the bottles. On went the dance. 
After a little while, Guan retired overcome by the 
powerful effects of the liquor. One by one, her 
loyal body-guard followed her example, until they 
all lay around on the green-sward like so many 
slaughtered innocents, in a state of dreadful intoxi- 
cation. 

Our corpse came back to life. He was now sit- 
ting in the boat smoking his long pipe and remarked 
with a gejitle smile, “A little brandy is a very 
good thing to have on hand when one is travelling. 
It meets an emergency like a guardian angel.” We 
silently slipped from our moorings and floated 
down the majestic stream, leaving our stupefied 
escorts behind. 

I knew that I should soon part from Dr. Parks, 
and I wanted to draw him out, if possible on the 
subject of Jean’s photograph. 

We had anchored and were sitting smoking in 
the early evening. I took it out and looked at 
it for a long time. For a time he was silent. 
Then he said, A pretty woman ! She is prettier 
than her picture. Is she a relative of yours? ” 


120 


IRAN GRANT, 


No ; why ? 

‘‘ She’s a badly used woman.” 

Badly used ? What do you know about her ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing.” 

** Why do you speak in riddles ? ” 

‘^Because you are a riddle. You doubc me. 
You think I am actuated by mere curiosity. You 
say to yourself, ‘ He knows nothing about this 
woman.’ Shall I prove to you my good faith? 
Shall I tell you her name?” 

‘‘Yes; pray do; I am in earnest.” 

“Jean Windsor, wife of Colonel Windsor, maiden 
name, Grant ! ” 

I was dumbfounded. “ Were you ever in 
America?” I asked. 

“ Never.” 

“ Do you know where Mrs. Windsor, as you call 
her, resides at the present time?” 

“ I do not.” 

I concluded now to make a clean breast of every- 
thing to Dr. Parks. He was in possession of facts 
very likely which might help Mrs. Sherman to 
recover her lost child. But I was disconcerted. I 
would go out for a walk. I would return to Dr. 
Parks. 

In the course of fifteen minutes I came back. 
Dr. Parks noticed my disturbed air, and holding 
me with that strange look, began, speaking to my 
comrades. 


JEAN GRANT. 


121 


Yes; brain diseases are as varied as the pebbles 
on the sea-shore. All men are more or less insane. 
There are insane persons outside of the asylums, 
and plenty of sane people in them.” 

I sat down opposite the doctor, and I noticed, as 
he proceeded that he cast rapid glances at me, from 
time to time, as if he expected to read something 
in my face. 

A painful case came under my notice some 
time ago. A beautiful young woman had been 
confined in the best private asylum in London for 
some years. She was so lovely that when I first 
saw her, I was anxious to know her history. I 
talked with her. She seemed rational. ‘ I am not 
insane,' she said, ‘ but I have become so weary of 
trying to get out of this terrible place in vain, that 
I submit to it now.* I called on her again and again. 
She was always the same. She told me her story 
simply and without variation, and a sad story it was. 
She had been brought up in a home of refinement. 
She had married a worthless army officer.’* Here 
the doctor stopped suddenly, and flashed his search- 
ing gray eyes into my face. Then he went on. 

‘‘ He married her for her money, and discovering 
after the marriage that the fortune belonged to her 
half-sister and not to her, he had her shut up in this 
asylum.” 

I was getting terribly excited. Dr. Parks saw 
this and now looked at me with a savage scowl as if 


122 


JEAN GRANT. 


he believed me to be the miserable culprit he was 
describing. 

She was never allowed to go out of her room. 
She was forbidden to write or receive letters or to 
receive visitors. I made a study of her case. She 
was not insane and never had been. When I told 
her that I would try to get her liberated, I shall 
never forget how she looked. It made my heart 
bleed. I got five of the best experts to visit her, 
without suspicion, and succeeded in the end in get- 
ting her out of the miserable hole by threatening 
the proprietors with indictment and exposure. It 
took me six months to effect her liberation. As 
usual, I made an ass of myself by falling in love 
with the lovely creature; and from the day she 
kissed my hand and blessed me for my efforts on 
her behalf, I have never been able to see her or 
learn where she is. Her wretch of a husband has, I 
suppose, shut her up in some other den. If I ever 
come across him, hang me, if I don't shoot him 
down like a dog." Again his scowl rested on my 
face and I was almost afraid of him. 

Was this the story of Jean Grant’s perils? It 
was almost what I expected to hear. This view, 
if correct, would account for the manner in which 
Dr. Parks looked at the photograph and for his 
strange conduct towards me. Evidently, he be- 
lieved me to be her cruel husband. I would find an 
opportunity and exchange confidences with him. 


JEAN GRANT, 1 23 

I was distressed and went alone for a second 
stroll. 

On my return, I met Dr. Parks. He looked 
gloomy and disturbed. 

‘^Garland,*' he said quietly, ‘‘I have come here 
to meet you.” 

What for?” I enquired, 

‘‘ To beat you,” he answered coolly. 

To beat me ? ” I asked in astonishment. ‘‘We 
are friends ! ” 

“Yes,” he said indifferently, “of course we are 
friends, but what’s that got to do with it ? It 
needn’t interfere with our friendship. But my 
duty is clear. I believe you are a scoundrel, and 
I’m going to impress that fact upon you with 
emphasis.” 

I was at my wit’s ends. “ The man is mad ! ” I 
exclaimed aloud. He took off his coat and hung 
it carefully on the nearest acacia bush. He 
removed his collar and tie, and rolled up his sleeves 
to the elbows with the utmost deliberation. I 
stood petrified. 

He stood before me and said in the most matter- 
of-fact way, — “ Garland, your true name is Colonel 
Windsor. You married Jean Grant for her money. 
When you found she had no money, you had her 
confined in an asylum in London. You learned 
that I loved her and rescued her. You had her 
removed to another dungeon. I detected you by 


124 


JEAN GRANT. 


means of her photograph which you accidentally let 
fall. I have proved you by your conduct. You 
are travelling in this wild country to escape arrest. 
You dare not go to London. I swore if I ever met 
Colonel Windsor that I would shoot him. Being 
friends, I am going to beat you. If necessary, 
I will shoot you later. If you have any arms, 
lay them aside. This is a hand-to-hand en- 
counter.'' 

The riddle was solved. You are entirely mis- 
taken, Dr. Parks. I am not Jean Grant's hus- 
band though I should be God knows: I am her 
lover — " 

‘‘What! you are.^" he exclaimed crestfallen. 

In a few words, I explained the situation. He 
grasped my hand warmly, “We are both hunting 
the same fox," he said. 

He told me of his great love for Jean. I told 
him that my once strong love for her was dead. 
Together we swore to rescue her and bring Colonel 
Windsor to punishment. From that moment to 
the present we have been brothers in all but 
name. 

Rapidly we descended the river, and arrived 
safely at the coast. We spent a fortnight in the 
small Dutch villages preparatory to embarking for 
London. 

At this point, our fascinating companion, Dr. 
Parks, found a cart-load of mail awaiting him, con- 


JEAN GRANT, 1 25 

sisting for the most part of love-letters and London 
dailies. 

I had read the latter over and over again without 
observing any items of very much interest. But 
one day, while glancing over the American notes in 
the Thunderer^' I was struck by the following : — 


A great sensation has been caused at Seaton, a 
small village near New York, by the cold-blooded 
murder of George Wentworth, a rising young attor- 
ney of splendid abilities and promise. He was to 
have been married on the following day to Miss 
Leonore Sherman, the most beautiful and talented 
young lady of the district and a rich heiress. All 
the detective agencies are at work, and it is believed 
the murderer will soon be caught, though, as yet 
not even the slightest clue has been found. Mr. 
Wentworth left the house of his intended about 
eleven o'clock in the evening and nothing further 
was seen or heard of him until the next morning, 
when he was found with a bullet hole through his 
breast concealed under a small bridge at the outer 
limit of the village. Several strange incidents have 
occurred within the last few years, near this bridge. 
A few years ago, Miss Sherman's elder sister eloped 
with a stranger and nothing has since been heard of 
her. It is conjectured by some that an organized 
gang has been formed for the purpose of obtaining 
possession of the persons and fortunes of these young 
ladies. The whole affair is involved in much mys- 
tery. Wentworth was a universal favorite wherever 
he was known, and great sorrow is expressed that 
his brilliant career has been untimely ended," 


126 


JEAN GRANT. 


I showed this column to Dr. Parks. He took it 
all in at a glance. He will soon be arrested/’ he 
said. “In this age of rapid communication, he can- 
not long escape detection, though he be the devil 
himself. I shall dance a jig at his funeral, for then 
Jean shhll be free to become my wife.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


My head swam with mingled feelings of anger and 
sorrow, as I read these words. My truest, noblest 
friend, dead ! Murdered by unknown hands! Slain 
in cold blood by the pistol of an assassin ! Waylaid 
and done to death ! And on that fatal bridge ; 
Great God ! Was that bridge the very gate of hell? 
At its mention what burning and long-banished 
memories thronged upon me! I remembered my 
dream. It was no doubt true ; my merry-hearted 
friend Wentworth was dead. In my trunk lay my 
will and testament, by which I had made him the 
sole beneficiary of all my moneys and effects at 
my death. And he was dead ! 

By whom had he been murdered? In the light 
of past events, I fully believed that Colonel Wind- 
sor was connected, in some way, with this murder. 
How foolish I had been not to have given him over 
to the hands of the law when he committed his first 
offence? My clemency had been thrown away. He 
had repaid my consideration with treachery, and in 
return for my generous silence, he had defamed my 
reputation, and robbed me of all earthly happiness. 
Now it might be too late. He had been my sue- 


128 


JEAN GRANT. 


\ 


cessful rival in a love affair. Who would now credit 
my story ? Who would now believe that Colonel 
Windsor had libelled me and attempted my life ? 
Every one would laugh at my allegations, and attrib- 
ute them to envy or malice. No ; I must not now re- 
vive old charges. It was too late. 

Suddenly I was seized by an intense desire to re- 
visit Seaton, and as I had nothing to live for but 
the gratification of my desires, I bade my compan- 
ions adieu, abandoned for the time being my 
exploring enterprises, and took passage direct for 
New York. 

I shall pass over my homeward voyage. I was so 
engrossed with the one idea of getting back to Sea- 
ton, and if necessary spending my last cent in 
bringing to justice the murderer of George Went- 
worth, that no incident or accident impressed me. 

It is spring. New York at last ! America, dear 
land of my birth ; land of my fathers ; land of free- 
dom ! I shouted with reverent, almost religious 
fervor, as I set my feet on American soil. 

The day following I was received at Dunmore by 
Leonore and her mother, with as much joy and as 
hearty a welcome as was compatible with their 
melancholy condition. 

Soon I was made acquainted with the particulars 
of Wentworth’s murder, which differed little from 
the account of it I had read in the newspaper. 

Wentworth, they informed me, had for a con- 


JEAN GRANT. 


129 


siderable time prior to his murder, been the recipient 
of various threatening letters, which left no doubt in 
their minds as to who was the actor or at all events 
the inspirer of the crime. 

Poor Jean ! she had never been heard from. 
Evidently her punishment had been greater than 
she deserved 

Mrs. Sherman and Leonore both heartily seconded 
my determination of ferreting out the perpetrator 
of these crimes, and offered to contribute whatever 
funds were necessary for that purpose.. I at once 
set to work. I published accurate pen pictures of 
Colonel Windsor, describing as minutely as I could, 
his appearance, size, features and the characters 
which he had been in the habit of assuming, and 
had them disseminated throughout the length and 
breadth of the country. Every detective agency in 
the United States was set to work; largely aug- 
mented detective staffs were equipped at our own 
expense to operate from the leading centres. The 
money spent in telegrams alone amounted some- 
times to one thousand dollars a week. We offered 
a reward of one hundred thousand dollars for the 
arrest and conviction of the murderer of George 
Wentworth, and the Police Department supple- 
mented this by an additional reward of twenty 
thousand dollars. 

Meanwhile, Dr. Parks was at work in London, try- 
ing to find his lost clew. I received a letter from him 
9 


130 


JEAN GRANT. 


which gave me hope and encouragement. He de- 
scribed at great length his efforts to find Jean and 
concluded most hopefully, “ I have at length ascer- 
tained where he had her confined whilst we were in 
Papua. From the proprietor of this institution, who 
refused to retain Jean on discovering her sanity, I 
have learned much that will be of importance in 
prosecuting our search. I have every reason to 
believe that I shall find her soon.” 

The threatening letters before referred to, bore the 
New York postmark ; it was in New York that Jean 
and Leonore first formed the acquaintance of Col- 
onel Windsor ; every circumstance indicated that 
that city was the locus operandi of the perpetrator. 
I had that city, therefore, literally studded with 
private detectives, who reported to me every Satur- 
day night. 

With all these inducements to open the mouths 
of accomplices, with all these agencies at work, a 
year had rolled by and nothing had been accom- 
plished. I urged Mrs. Sherman to spend no more 
of her money in the vain pursuit, lest poverty might 
be added to the already intolerable burdens she had 
to bear. She laughed at my remonstrance. What 
would a mother not give to secure the punishment, 
of an infamous man who had caused her the loss of 
one daughter and the ruin of the hopes and pros- 
pects of another. 

During the next year, I continued to operate at 


/EAAT GRAArr. I3I 

my own expense entirely, but with unabated per- 
sistence. 

I had, all along, been doing my best to find the 
whereabouts of Professor Sydney, the teacher of 
music and dancing at the seminary, who had first in- 
troduced Jean and Leonore to Colonel Windsor. I 
had learned from Leonore the manner in which their 
acquaintance was brought about. It had been ef- 
fected by a letter of recommendation and introduc- 
tion from the Professor. 

From what she told me, it appeared that Profes- 
sor Sydney was a tall, compactly built, dark-eyed 
man, bearing a rather striking resemblance to 
Colonel Windsor. At first, I thought little of this 
resemblance which I considered might be only casual, 
but when the most diligent search failed to locate 
Professor Sydney, this idea gradually worked itself 
into the strength of a conviction that Colonel 
Windsor and Professor Sydney must have been 
related to each other. Most likely they were 
brothers. 

So strongly had this notion taken possession of 
my mind that I felt convinced that if I could find 
Professor Sydney, I should be able to unravel the 
mystery. 

All at once, a new idea dawned on me. Might 
they not be one and the same person? I took 
train at once for Seaton to obtain Leonore's opinion. 

I asked her if the resemblance was remarkable. 


132 


/£AAr GRANT, 


It was. Not only did it extend to the features and 
form but also to the movements, voice and deport- 
ment. This confirmed to some extent my suspicion. 

She had never seen the two men together, 
though they professed to be intimate friends. 
Once or twice. Colonel Windsor officiated at the 
college during the absence of the Professor. At 
last I communicated my conjecture to Leonore. It 
was a revelation to her. She at once coincided 
with my opinion. The college girls had often 
commented on the unaccountable similitude. This 
theory, which had never occurred to their unsuspect- 
ing minds, would explain the matter most satisfac- 
torily. She felt certain they were one and the same 
person. 

I at once returned to New York and interviewed 
Professor Weldon, the principal of the college. 
Sydney had left the employ of that institution 
several years ago. The principal was at first some- 
what reticent, but on being informed of the nature 
of my mission became more communicative. 

“What record, if any, do you keep of your 
teachers. Professor Weldon?'* I enquired. 

“ None at all — scarcely any, at least. We merely 
assign each teacher his work on the time-table," he 
replied. 

Do you not take down the name and address of 
each teacher ? " I asked. 

“ Oh yes, we do that." 


JEAN GRANT. 1 33 

“ Do you record any of the past history of your 
teachers? 

“ No ; we have not made a habit of doing so.” 

‘‘ Do you not take a minute of where he last 
taught ? ” 

No, we do not ; of course we generally inquire 
for these, as well as many other particulars, when a 
teacher applies for a situation in our school, but 
they are never committed to writing.” 

Then I suppose you will be still less interested 
as to where he goes after he leaves you ? ” 

Yes.” 

The Professor, who was a tall, spare, erect, well 
dressed, scholarly looking man, with faded, yet 
piercing gray eyes, pale shaven face, and of an 
extremely cautious nature, looking at me steadily 
while I asked him these questions, and having fully 
satisfied himself that he was not being subjected to 
imposture, rose from his seat, opened his secretary 
and drew from one of the drawers a small square 
diary; with methodical despatch he turned to the 
index, then to the page on which the teachers in the 
department of music and dancing, had at his re- 
quest, written their names and addresses. , PTom 
this he continued in a studious undertone to recite 
to me as follows : 

‘‘ W. Sydney, Professor of music and dancing; 
entered service Jan’y ist, i8 — . Left service 
July 20th, 1 8 — , 79 Ford Street.” 


134 


JEAN GRANT, 


‘‘ That is all/' he said, closing the book and turn- 
ing on me once more his steady, inquiring eyes. 

“ Will you kindly allow me to see the handwrit- 
ing of Professor Sydney? I asked. 

‘‘ Certainly." 

“ Is this his own handwriting?" 

“I presume so. My rule is to ask each new 
teacher to come to my library and fill in these par- 
ticulars." 

Had you ever any correspondence with Pro- 
fessor Sydney ? " 

‘‘ None. None whatever." 

‘‘ I hope you will pardon my rudeness. Pro- 
fessor Weldon. I assure you that nothing short of 
the serious business I have in hand, would prompt 
me to address you in this categorical way. Here 
is the address of my bankers. Should you desire 
to learn anything regarding me they will be pleased 
at any time to satisfy you." 

‘T am entirely at your service," he said bowing 
gracefully. 

“Thank you. There are a few more things 
which I should like to know. Have you any mem- 
ory or record of the recommendations which he 
submitted with his application?" 

‘‘ I am sorry to say, Mr. Garland," he continued, 
with increasing politeness, “that I have not. I 
have forgotten them, and such papers are not kept 
on file by our board." 


/EAN GRANT, 1 35 

‘‘ I suppose, Professor Weldon, that on his leav- 
ing your school, he asked you for a testimonial ? ” 
No, I think not. It seems to me he did not 
even send in a written resignation. He simply 
informed me that he would not be back after the 
vacation. I have never seen nor heard of him since. 
But I may say, Mr. Garland, that I was glad when 
I knew he intended leaving our school. There was 
something about the man which I did not like. 
He was a deep, designing-looking man. I had no 
confidence in him. If he is guilty of the of- 
fences you charge him with, I trust he may be 
brought to justice, but I do not know, Mr. Garland, 
that I can in any way further that object, much as 
I should like to do so.*’ 

After some casual conversation, I bade the 
Professor adieu. I had gained but one point 
which might be of any use to me. I had ascertained 
Professor Sydney’s former address. I had also seen 
his handwriting which might or might not be of 
service to me. 

That evening I presented myself at 79 Ford 
street. I rang the bell. The door was opened by 
an oldish woman with a good-natured face. I 
wished to know if she could accommodate a single 
gentleman with a room for a few weeks. She had 
rooms to rent. She asked me to step inside and 
showed me through the different apartments, gar- 
rulously expatiating on their many merits as we 


136 


JEAN GRANT. 


passed through them. I was not hard to satisfy 
with a room, and I was not sorry to find Mrs. 
Wood extremely loquacious. I devoted a couple 
of weeks ingratiating myself into the good graces of 
the kind old lady. I was a gentleman of leisure, I 
informed her. Sometimes I travelled. Sometimes 
I did a little magazine writing. Each time I paid 
my room-rent, I handed her therewith, a few dol- 
lars of a gratuity, which she invariably accepted 
with as much surprise as gratitude. Like most of 
persons who follow her business, she was fond of 
catechising. Her methods of leading from the 
known to the unknown would have done infinite 
credit to Socrates himself. 

In this way, it happened that Mrs. Wood, who 
had kept the house she was now residing in for 
over twenty years, could give a succinct history of 
almost every boarder she had had. 

She found in me an easy victim. I had little to 
conceal, and much to reveal. I used to sit hour 
after hour in my small sitting-room, relating the 
incidents and adventures of my nomadic life to her 
greedy ears. I even went so far as to tell her the 
full details of my sad experiences at Seaton. She 
was a pious, tender-hearted old lady, and so she 
sympathized deeply with the sufferings of human- 
ity in general, and mine in particular. One thing 
I kept hidden — the name of the culprit of whom I 
was in search. 


JEAN GRANT, 


137 


In this way, I completely won the confidence of 
Mrs. Wood. But I was feeling impatient. She 
had described many of her lodgers to me, but as 
yet none who corresponded with my man. 

I desisted as long as I could from direct interrog- 
atories, thinking that a voluntary statement would 
give me much more reliable information. 

One day I introduced the Ladies’ College into 
our talk, by saying that certain of my lady friends 
were attending that school. My landlady was 
astonishingly conversant with the institution. Her 
pew in the church was directly in the rear of the 
college pews. She had for years kept herself 
posted, by means of her church connection, in the 
affairs of the school — even down to the names of 
the pupils. She knew all the professors well, and 
one of them. Professor Windsor Sydney, had 
roomed in her house for several years. 

‘^Professor Windsor Sydney!” My suspicion 
was correct : another link in the long chain of du- 
plicity and dissimulation ; another step towards 
bringing to punishment this many-named gentle- 
man. My heart beat rapidly at this new revelation. 
I could with difficulty repress my feelings. After 
two long years of painful, futile search, I had at 
last found a clue. I forgot it was but a slender 
clue; I forgot that I was as far as ever from being 
able to point my finger at the murderer of my best 
friend, and say, Thou art the man ! ” Already he 


138 


/£AJV GI^ANT. 


seemed to be in my grasp. My talkative hostess 
did not need to be interrogated ; all I had to do 
was to express myself as being interested in a 
particular person and she would rattle off his 
whole life with the volubility of a Dr. John- 
stone. 

Professor Windsor Sydney ! I repeated. “ He 
was a fine musician, I believe, was he not? Used 
to compose and play a great deal, did he not, Mrs. 
Wood ? " 

“That’s the same — the very same,” she began. 
“ He was the handsomest and the cleverest and the 
intelligentest and the satisfactoriest gentleman as I 
ever had in under my roof — he was — the same Pro- 
fessor Sydney. But none of us is good — no, not 
one of us — as the good Book speaketh, and he 
wasn’t a/l good, that same gentleman. He had a 
temper — oh, such a temper! I often told him he 
would kill somebody some day — he would — I told 
him so. He said he was an English gentleman’s 
son. His father was very rich, he said. He was 
alius awating for his ‘ ship to come in’ — he was. 
But his ship never come. If it had of come, I 
would be hundreds of dollars better off — I would. 
And that’s not all — it’s not. Since he left me I 
have been told that he never was the son of a Eng- 
lish gentleman — he wasn’t. Think of that now, Mr. 
Garland — think of that now. Such roguerv — and 
from a Professor — from a Professor ! What will 


JEAN GRANT. 1 39 

common folks do if a Professor will do such things 
as these — such bad things as these ! '' 

'‘What did he do with his salary Mrs. Woodi^'' 

“ Gambled — gambled — do you know what gam- 
bling is? It's playing cards for money — it's bet- 
ting and losing — betting and losing. He used to 
tell me he had to give all his money to educate his 
sister — he did — and he never had a sister. I know 
that now — I do ! " 

“ I consider that he dealt with you in a very un- 
gentlemanly manner, indeed, Mrs. Wood." 

“ That he did ! — that he did ! Mr. Garland." 

“ I suppose it was bad company ruined him." 

“ Bad company ! There could be no worse com- 
pany than himself — there couldn’t." 

“Where has he gone? What has become of 
him? Has he left the city? Why cannot you get 
your money from him ? " 

“That I don't know — I don’t." 

“ Has he ever written you ?" 

“ Never a word. Folks as don't pay their board 
don’t write no love-letters to their landladies — they 
don’t. Never a word." 

“ Have you never seen him on the streets of the 
city, nor heard where he went after leaving your 
place ? " 

“Never seen nor heard of him — not I." 

“Now, my good Mrs. Wood, I assure you I am 
not asking you so many questions merely to gratify 


140 


JEAN GRANT. 


an idle curiosity. I will be candid with you. I 
feel that I can trust you with a great secret — ” 

‘‘ Secret ! Indeed that you can. I never let a 
secret slip — I don’t.” 

‘‘Then I must inform you that I know this man, 
Professor Windsor Sydney, to my great loss.” 

“ Ah, you lent him money — then it’s gone money 
—it is—” 

“ Worse than that. He has robbed me of — ” 

“ Robbed ? The Lord have mercy on him. I 
told him he would come to that — I told him 
so.” 

“ He has not robbed me of my money. If that 
were all, I would think it a small matter. He has 
robbed me of happiness and hope, of friends and 
friendships — to be plain with you, Mrs. Wood, I 
should tell you that I am sure beyond the shadow 
of a doubt, that this man is the villain who has 
caused me all the troubles I spoke to you about a 
few days ago.” 

“ The Lord have mercy on him! Him that lied 
about you to your sweetheart ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And that coaxed her to elope with him so that 
he might get her money ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“And that murdered your friend?” 

“ I believe he has done all these things.” 

“ I told him so — I told him so — some folks thinks 


JEAN GRANT, I4I 

as I don’t know nothing, Mr. Garland, but when I 
prophesy — it allers comes to pass — it does.” 

“Now, Mrs. Wood, you may be able to help us 
bring this man to justice. There is a reward of 
$120,000 offered to any person who will give such 
information as will bring him to punishment.” 

The good woman seemed startled by the mention 
of such a large sum. She at once began instituting 
inquiries, and promised to do her very best to track 
the tiger to his den. 

I returned to Seaton, glad to have obtained some 
new information to communicate. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Nature is stronger than resolution — as the 
whole is greater than its part, or the actor greater 
than the act. Beneficent Providence has balanced 
our sensibilities on such an admirable self-adjusting 
fulcrum that, throw them out of order as we may ; 
encumber them with loss, danger and doubt ; crush 
them into apparent extinction ; paralyze them by 
misfortune, disappointment and grief ; unhinge 
them, upset them, unbalance them, as we may, they 
will in time, arrange themselves into harmony, equi- 
poise and symmetry. 

Time, if it is the greatest detective of all and the 
greatest avenger of wrong, is, also, the greatest re- 
warder of right, the greatest balm for the wounded 
spirit, the greatest healer of the broken heart, the 
greatest tonic for the enfeebled nerve, the great 
elixir of human life. 

How bitter a task would life become if the bur- 
dens of yesterday’s sorrow were not lightened to- 
day, and the fears of to-morrow burnt, as a sacrifice, 
on the altar of to-day’s hope ! 

What had time done for me? Much that was 
beneficent. The itinerant, adventurous life I had 


JEAN GRANT. 


143 


lived, for a few years after my real-life drama at 
Dunmore, had revealed many hitherto unknown 
phases of human life and character, and deeply im- 
pressed me with the immeasurable vastness of the 
created system, when contrasted with the infinitesi- 
mal littleness of my own, or any other's individual 
experience. One living in solitude soon considers 
himself pretty much all there is in the world, and 
indulges himself in the fretful fancy, that, if his 
head aches, the solar system should proclaim a con- 
dolence-day and cease its unsympathetic revolu- 
tions. Moving in the world's great circulation, one 
thinks of himself as a drop in the ocean, as a grain 
of sand by the sea-shore, washed hither and thither 
by the ebbing and flowing tides ; and having his re- 
lations to men and things thus correctly defined, 
has broader notions of things in general, is less self- 
esteemed, more objective, more sympathetic, more 
cosmopolitan. 

Such are some of the changes the passing years 
had been effecting on me. I had learned, too, to 
think better of my kind, and that the whole race 
should not be condemned because one man was a 
devil incarnate. All these higher and more humane 
thoughts were largely the result of my improved 
bodily condition. As a rule, the mind follows the 
temperament of the body. 

Then, again. I had an object to attain ; my whole 
soul was-set on getting to the bottom of the wicked 


144 


JEAN GRANT. 


plot which had deprived me and my friends of 
our happiness ; and when a man is working for 
an object, he will soon cure himself of apathy, 
misanthrophy and melancholia. Ever since my 
return from the heart of Papua, which, in memory,, 
seemed then, and seems yet, a vision of unspeak- 
able romance and beauty and luxuriance — the 
broad, placid river widening into lakes of more 
than Italian azure and gold ; the gently undu- 
lating banks covered with flowers of prismatic 
brilliancy towering aloft in their exuberance like 
trees ; the love-lorn Guan, her palace of gold, 
her matchless beauty and her truant lover; the 
Beautiful Lake ; the models of sculpture, painting 
and architecture, still blazing under the torrid sun 
from the majestic ruins of an extinguished Renais- 
sance, ‘‘The Mountatn of Gold,’' — ever since my re- 
turn from these striking scen-es, my health had been 
steadily improving, until, once again, I felt I was 
myself. My body was strong; my step had never 
been more elastic ; my senses and sensibilities were 
clear. 

A second letter from Dr. Parks assured me that 
he was on the trail and would soon run down his 
quarry. “There is only one step,” the letter said, 
“ between me and victory. Expect to hear from me 
in a few days. As I near the end of love’s long 
labor, I, stoic as I am, am quite upset. When I 
think of Jean, her beauty, her charm of manner, her 


JEAN GRANT, 


145 


\ 

joy at being again delivered from bondage (and be- 
lieve me, Garland, I can think of nothing else), I 
am quite beside myself with happiness.” 

Was there any other cause for my rapid convales- 
cence ? Perhaps there was. Looking back in the 
light of subsequent events, I am strongy disposed 
to believe that there was a more potent agency at 
work among the collapsed materials of my moral 
nature. But at that time I was unconscious of its 
influence. What was it? 

Did I love Leonore? No; not in the ordinary 
acceptation of that phrase. During the last two 
years, Dunmore had been my home ; Leonore and 
her mother had been my confidants — more, my 
sister and my mother. 

Wherever my strange mission called me, I never 
forgot that it was their wrongs more than my own 
I was seeking to avenge. My own, were forgotten 
or almost so. But I could not remember with less 
sorrow, or less anger, the terrible fate of poor Jean, 
the blighted prospects of Leonore, the sorrowful 
lines that now marred the saintly face of Mrs. 
Sherman, and the unprovoked, brutal murder of my 
noblest and truest friend, George Wentworth. I 
made it a point to spend Sunday, as often as possi- 
ble, at Dunmore ; on these occasions we usually 
went to church together in the morning, and spent 
the afternoon and evening in conversation and 
reading. Leonore and her mother had withdrawn 
10 


146 


JEAN GRANT, 


exclusively from society at the time of Jean’s elope- 
ment. They were always glad to welcome me on 
my return to Dunmore, and while there, they 
treated me with more deference and kindness than 
I deserved or desired. 

I need not say that I did all in my power to 
alleviate their sorrow and add to their comfort. 
Sadly and deeply I sympathized with these two 
lonely women. I could not help contrasting the 
bright, joyous and lovely group that used to 
assemble around the family hearth at Dunmore, 
with the two broken-hearted women who sat there 
now. 

In my silent hours, I inwardly condemned my- 
self for ever having entered that home. Nothing 
had prospered at Dunmore since that distant morn- 
ing on which I was brought, a hopeless invalid, 
within its walls. And, yet, I had done no wrong. 
I had preserved my conscience void of offence 
toward all men. The fault was not mine. There 
existed a plot, a conspiracy to thwart my purposes 
and defeat my enterprises. Why it should exist 
or of whom it consisted, I could but conjecture. 
But it pained me to know that the operations of 
my enemies should not only be directed towards 
myself, but also towards my most innocent and 
unsuspecting friends. 

Leonore and I had much in common. Ours was 
the kinship of sorrow, the bonds woven by the 


JEAN GRANT, 


147 


hand of affliction. We had each loved and lost. 
We had each lost, not by the hand of natural death 
— I, by the tongue of envy, malice and falsehood ; 
she by the assassin’s bullet ; both by the treachery 
and malevolence of one and the same man. 

We were friends. Our friendship was of the 
quiet, sad, undemonstrative sort. It was founded 
on mutual pity, which begot mutual affection. 

Leonore was a beautiful woman. It would be 
hard to describe her. Rather tall, slight, finely 
formed and lissome ; high brows, oval face taper- 
ing down to a pretty chin, red lips, transparent 
nostrils, straight, slender nose, fair complexion, 
clear amber eyes not too large, but expressive of 
cordiality, candor and fidelity ; eye-brows, brown 
and well-arched, lashes long; over all, a profuse 
wealth of golden hair. Her disposition was noble, 
generous, forgiving, loving. Her manners and 
deportment were queenly. 

Did I love Leonore ? I pitied her ; I sympa- 
thized with her ; I admired her beauty ; I appre- 
ciated her gracious ways ; her presence was always 
with me ; I was happier with her than with any 
other person. I left her with sorrow and returned 
to her with joy ; in a word I labored and lived 
solely for Leonore Sherman, and yet I did not love 
her. If called upon to do so, I would have given 
my life to defend her, and yet we were only 
friends. 


148 


JEAN GRANT, 


What were her feelings towards me ? So far as 
I could judge, much the same as mine towards 
her. Our hearts were open to each other. 
Between us, there were reverential respect, open- 
faced candor, implicit confidence and sincere friend- 
ship. We understood each other, which may mean 
either more or less than loving each other. We 
were friends. 

But all these feelings were spontaneous, uncon- 
scious. We did not measure or weigh our feelings. 
We were engrossed in an all-absorbing pursuit. 
We did not stop to consider. Doubtless, we grew 
towards each other, but we knew it not. 

But we were destined to undergo an ordeal 
which should put to the test our affection for each 
other, an experience more painful than death, 
blacker than night, terrible as hell. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


I HAD only time to announce my clue to the 
chiefs of the various detective agencies, when a new 
series of events transpired which expedited, at a 
painful cost, the results of my long search. 

‘‘ I received the following epistle from a source 
whence I could least expect it. 


*‘New York, 

‘^SlR: — It is now over six years since I received 
while at Seaton, a letter from your hand. Various 
occurrences, of which it is needless that I should 
speak here, have prevented an earlier reply from 
me. I cannot, now, however, regret my delay, 
since it has afforded you ample time to repent of 
your folly, and to learn that a gentleman should not 
be addressed in terms of menacing and puerile 
braggadocio. The consequences of that ill-advised 
missive, have, no doubt, been as torturing to you, 
as they have been grateful to me. 

Why, my fond sir, has the celebration of your 
nuptials been so grievously long deferred ? Has 
your patience not become exhausted? Has your 
hope deferred not sickened your heart? Have 
your views of the constancy of woman’s affec- 
tion, may I enquire, not undergone a radical 
change? You should not be so tardy. Perhaps 


JEAN GRANT. 


150 

your lady-love may renounce you ; perhaps she may 
weary of waiting; perhaps some fascinating stranger 
may deprive you of her affections. I would 
caution you to hasten your steps. 

“ But perhaps I am doing your designing nature 
and your excellent capacity for finessing an injus- 
tice. Probably you have set your affections on 
another woman, with less sincerity, it is true, but 
with larger hopes of pecuniary advantage. Indeed, 
I know this to be true. For some time, you have 
been playing the role of benefactor with admirable 
diplomacy and with brilliant effect. And now that 
you have about accomplished your purpose, you 
will, no doubt, slacken the ardor with which you 
have hitherto prosecuted your detective functions, 
and announce yourself willing to accept, as a sub- 
stitute for the head of an executed criminal, the 
heart of an unsuspecting and wealthy woman. 
Your course has been long and crooked, but it has 
brought you to the desired goal. 

“ A man with less cunning, but with more 
courage, would have obtained the coveted reward 
by more direct means. 

‘‘ Clumsiness, in your case, has been mistaken for 
candor, frankness and honesty; and so it has 
precipitated the end which it should have frus- 
trated. 

“ The prize is within your grasp, but you shall 
never touch it. The crown is prepared for your 
brow, but you shall never wear it. Like Moses, 
(forgive the unrighteous comparison) you have 
viewed the Promised Land, but you will never 
enter it. Beware, good sir, beware. You have not 
been alone in your peregrinations; I have been 
with you. I have dogged your steps for the last 


JEAN GRANT, 


151 

two years. I have shadowed you everywhere ; and 
while you were vainly searching for me, I was often 
by your side, laughing in my sleeve at your un- 
couthness, verdancy and self-deluding smartness. 
You are a brilliant detective. It is wonderful that 
you have not lost yourself. Au revoir^ my faithful 
friend ; leave the country at once, or decide that 
your fate is sealed. Revenge is sweet, beware. 

“ Yours fraternally, 

‘‘ COLONEL WINDSOR. 

“Arthur Garland, Esq. 

“New York.” 


I was completely stupefied by this letter. Who 
was this man? What was he? Man or devil? 
Where did he reside? Had he power to disembody 
and etherealize himself? The keenest detectives of 
a whole continent at work for several years, spurred 
on by the largest reward ever offered for the detec- 
tion of an American criminal, and the wretch living 
and moving in their midst and daring even to 
address notes of defiance and ridicule to the one he 
had wronged most cruelly! And my life threat- 
ened! Well, let it go! My head was muddled 
and my every sense benumbed by the perusal of 
that daring letter. By the same post I received 
another letter from Dr. Parks to the effect that he 
had lost his clue, and that Jean was most likely in 
New York. As soon as he could verify this theory 
he would come at once. 

There is no doubt,'* he added, “that Colonel 


152 


JEAN GRANT. 


Windsor is kept posted as to our doings. Jean has 
been carried away from London just as I had about 
reached her/’ 

But I would persevere. There was a possibility 
that this evil genius would over-reach himself in his 
fancied security and intangibility. 

New instructions and fac-similies of the letter 
were forwarded without delay to the different 
detective organizations. 

It was an autograph letter. The handwritting 
was most peculiar. Evidently, it was a hand that 
had so often disguised itself, that it at last became 
unique and original, and might afford an easy means 
of detection. It was Windsor’s hand — I had seen 
it in several threatening letters addressed to poor 
Wentworth shortly before his death ; disguised 
as it was, I could detect the same hand that I had 
seen in Principal Weldon’s diary, so that there 
was no longer any room for doubt that Colonel 
Windsor and Professor Sydney were one and the 
same person. 

I had a vague recollection of having seen it 
elsewhere, in some library, or visitors’ book, or 
hotel register, but where I could not recall. 

Inside of a week from the time I had received 
Colonel Windsor’s threatening letter, another appal- 
ling link was forged in the long chain of destruc- 
tion. 

Leonore and her mother had come to the city 


/£AJV GRANT, 


153 


in the morning. When they reached the Grand 
Central Depot, Leonore called a cab ; she entered 
it, and before her mother had time to follow her, 
the door had been closed and the cab driven off at 
a furious rate. A sponge saturated with chloroform 
was held to her mouth and she soon lay senseless 
and unresisting. 

Mrs. Sherman merely smiled at the cabman’s 
hurry, thinking that he would soon be made 
acquainted with his blunder and return for his other 
passenger. She waited for half an hour, and noth- 
ing further was heard. Leonore had not returned. 
Mrs. Sherman still thought it nothing more than a 
slight inconvenience. An hour passed. Nothing 
had been heard. She spoke to the policeman who 
occasionally passed through the waiting-room. He 
shook his head ominously and added : — Madam, 
it’s a common thing this. It’s becoming a very 
profitable business. It looks bad. I’ll communi- 
cate with the chief and see what we can do for 
you.” 

For the first time, a suspicion of foul play 
flashed across Mrs. Sherman’s mind. She uttered 
a low moan of fear and grief and sank insensible at 
the officer’s feet. 

As soon as she had recovered, she was driven to 
my hotel. With tears and sobs, she told me her 
story — a hint was enough. I knew it all. Leonore 
had been kidnapped. She would be murdered, 


I 54 /EAJ\r GRANT. 

or meet a worse fate still, and be tortured to dis- 
traction. 

What could I do ? I had done all in my power to 
unearth this murderous conspiracy. In vain. I 
w^s baffled, foiled, defeated. The next act in the 
tragedy would be my murder. I knew that. What 
this villain threatened, he carried out. 

I opened his letter and read : — 

‘^The prize is within your grasp, but you shall 
never touch it. The crown is prepared for your 
brow, but you shall never wear it. You have viewed 
the Promised Land, but you will never enter it.'' 

I now clearly apprehended the dark import of this 
metaphoric statement. That part had been fulfilled 
to the letter. F'urther on, I read : 

Beware, good sir, beware. You have not been 
alone in your peregrinations. I have been with 
you. I have dogged your steps for the last two 
years. I have shadowed you everywhere, and 
while you were vainly searching for me, I was often 
by your side, laughing in my sleeve at your un- 
couthness, verdancy and self-deluding smartness. 
Leave the country at once, or decide that your fate 
is sealed. Revenge is sweet. Beware." 

This part was yet to be fulfilled. Doubtless it 
would soon be attempted. I was infuriated. I 
rushed out of my hotel cursing myself and the 
detectives, and vowing condign punishment upon 
the head of Colonel Windsor. I armed rriyself with 


/£AAr GRANT, 


155 


revolvers and a short sabre which I concealed at 
convenient reach under my coat. I trebled the 
reward. Once more, the whole American press 
blazoned forth the history of this unfortunate fam- 
ily. My name figured prominently in all the re- 
ports. Among all the theories propounded, the 
most explicable was that I was at the bottom of 
the whole business. I was arrested, tried and ac- 
quitted. This increased my mortification and min- 
imized my usefulness in fathoming the conspir- 
acy. 

I need not say that Mrs. Sherman, broken-hearted 
and despairing as she was, never wavered for a 
moment in her friendship for me or lost her faith in 
my honor. She was now more than ever to me, 
and I to her. Could I have brought back to her 
side her two beautiful daughters, I would willingly 
have laid down my own life. 

Six months had elapsed since Leonore had disap- 
peared, and no tidings had been heard. The detec- 
tives had abandoned the fruitless search in disgust, 
and contented themselves by saying that there 
existed a huge ring or cabal of criminals in New 
York who so helped and shielded each other that 
detection was impossible. 

I called on Mrs. Wood, thinking there was a 
slight possibility of her having obtained some infor- 
mation for me. She had not. As I bade her good- 
bye she handed me an old letter which I had by 


156 . 


JEAN GRANT. 


oversight left in the room I had occupied in her 
house. 

I turned to go. “ Mr. Garland/* said the good 
lady, “ just look into that letter — just look well at 
it ! It looks like Professor Sydney’s hand, very like 
it — it does; I did’nt like to look into it — I did’nt. 
But says I to myself, that’s his hand, if he’s livin’ — 
that is. He alius did write a spidery hand, he did. 
It’s like himself, it is, crooked and disguised like — 
very like himself. Wherever that letter came from 
— he’s there — he is.” 

I glanced at the envelope. A peculiar hand ! 
Some letters crowded together ; others far apart ; 
some large and well-formed ; others scrawled and 
diminutive ! Colonel Windsor’s hand ! Ah God ! 
What does it mean ? Quick as thought, I drew the 
letter from the envelope. It was dated at the police 
headquarters, New York, a year and a half back, 
and was signed ‘‘Colonel John Abbott, Detective.” 

I crushed it into my pocket and hastened to my 
room. Once there, I fell on my knees and in a 
spirit of fervent devotion supplicated the God 
whose attributes are “merciful and just,” that in 
His mercy He would have compassion on Mrs. 
Sherman and her daughters, if they yet lived, and 
in His justice bring the wrong-doers to punishment. 
I arose, locked the door, spread the letter on my 
study-table and pondered over its contents. 

It briefly stated that its author had energetically 


JEAN GRANT. 


157 


pursued a certain line of action which he hoped 
would soon bring the perpetrators of the crime to 
justice. It requested a remittance of a few hun- 
dred dollars to defray the extraordinary expenses 
the writer had incurred, in the anxious discharge of 
this important duty, and concluded by expressing 
the certain hope that before many days I should 
have the satisfaction of having the murderer of 
Wentworth suffer the extreme penalty of the law. 
I had remitted the money, but in the excitement of 
the moment the character of the writing had es- 
caped my observation. 

I drew Colonel Windsor’s letter from my pocket 
and placed the two side by side on the table. It 
was obvious that both had been written in a feigned 
hand, but the most vicarious character will repeat 
itself. The similarity was convincing. There was 
no doubt the same hand had penned both. 

At last ! At last ! I have a clue ! Colonel 
Windsor, my dexterous villain, you have proved 
too clever for your own good, you have over- 
reached yourself,” I shouted aloud almost crazed 
with delight. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


I DIRECTED my steps to the police headquarters 
where I found Chief Symonds in his office. I was 
well acquainted with the chief, my unenviable vo- 
cation having frequently brought me into contact 
with him. 

“Good morning, good morning, Mr. Garland. I 
hope you are well,’* he said as I entered his office. 

“Good morning. Chief,” I replied, endeavoring 
to conceal the tremor in my voice. 

“ Found your man yet ? ” he asked. 

“No; but I believe I have found his trail,” I 
answered. 

“ Ah, indeed ; glad to hear it ; very glad to hear 
it, Mr. Garland. I hope you may catch the scoun- 
drel. There must be a nest of them. One out, all 
out, will be our game. If we get our hands on one, 
if we can only catch one of them, it will be a dark 
day for the lot. How about the reward? Who 
gets that? A gold mine for some lucky devil; 
wish I were he,” he continued, trying to draw me 
out. 

Whether rightly or wrongly I had been losing 
faith in the whole police system. I reached the 


JEAN GRANT, 


159 


climax of distrust and suspicion when I found that 
its ranks might often afford refuge to the basest 
outlaws, and the eyes of justice might in this way 
be turned aside. I had not gone there to make a 
confession. I was not to be drawn out. I had 
learned something of human nature in the last few 
years. Somehow, I could not resist the feeling 
that if I should convey my clue to the chief or to 
any member of his force, its wdiole influence would 
be turned against me, and its guilty member 
spirited away beyond detection. 

‘‘ Pardon me. Chief, I have not quite completed 
my clue yet; it is, I may say, of so very slight a 
nature that unless I can fortify it by certain facts, 
it will be useless. Later on, I shall be pleased to 
confer with you as to what course I had better 
adopt,'* I answered. 

“ Do you know a member of your detective force 
whose name is Colonel John Abbott?** I enquired. 

“Colonel John Abbott? Well, I should say I do. 
I count Colonel Abbott the cleverest detective in 
America. He has unearthed thousands of crimes 
and mysteries. He is known from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific. He never loses a trail. He will stick 
to it for years with the tenacity and perseverance 
of a sleuth-hound till he tracks the culprit to his 
den. His only failure which I can recollect is the 
Wentworth case. That has defied us all. George 
Wentworth's murderer will, I believe, never be de- 


l60 JEAN GRANT, 

tected. . In all likelihood he is dead by this time. 
But till Abbott abandons the case, I will not en- 
tirely lose hope. In extreme cases, he often lies 
low for years, and just when the delinquent thinks 
all has blown over and ventures out from his seclu- 
sion, he finds himself handcuffed and arraigned for 
trial.’’ 

‘‘Can you oblige me with his address?” I asked. 
“ I wish to call on him in reference to this very 
case.’* 

“ I cannot. Detectives have no address ; no 
complexion; no clothes; no appearance; and no 
character. Detectives are the star actors of the 
age. They play a different role every day. They 
assume all characters ; wear all kinds of clothes ; 
chum with all kinds of men. They have no iden- 
tity. They are the shadows of other men. They 
are everybody, everywhere, and everything. I can- 
not give you his address. Besides, Mr. Garland, 
besides, he is not on the force now. He resigned 
some three months ago. He was offered a large in- 
crease in his salary which he would not accept.” 

I felt a chill creep through my veins at this intel- 
ligence. Had this prodigy of deceit and crime 
again evaded me? Had he felt the chains of jus- 
tice tightening about him and made good his 
escape? 

I kept as steady as I could and went on. “ Indeed, 
I regret to hear that. Abbott is an old acquaint- 


JEAN GRANT. 


l6l 

aiice of mine. He has worked very zealously in 
this Wentworth affair. I should like to see him.” 
An acquaintance, is he? ” 

‘‘ Yes ; at least, I think so. I think he is the 
man whom I knew some years ago. Is he a tall, 
ponderous man ? ” 

Yes ; that he is, very tall.” 

Compactly and proportionately built ? ” 

The same ; the very same.” 

With striking features? ” 

Very striking; Very large, prominent features. 

‘‘ Sallow complexion ? ” 

The same.” 

Large black eyes ? ” 

'‘Yes; the same; a terrible pair of eyes, that 
would look clear through a man.” 

" Long black mustache, black hair, heavy black 
eyebrows ? ” 

“ The same, the very same. Altogether a remark- 
able make up. He is the same. An acquaintance 
of yours, Mr. Garland? He is well worth knowing, 
the same Abbott, and once known he is never for- 
gotten. He is the cleverest fellow I ever knew. 
He could accomplish anything. The finest address, 
most polished manners, best reader of character, of 
any man of my acquaintance. He could walk with 
the majesty of a king, or creep along the street like 
a hopelessly deformed cripple, till he extracted tears 
from the passers-by. He would write me from San 


JEAN GRANT. 


162 

Francisco and be in New York before his letter was 
posted. Dozens of times, he has accosted me on 
the street without my recognizing him, and 
afterwards told me about it. An actor, a magician, 
a ventriloquist, a soothsayer, a clairvoyant, a mesmer- 
ist ; men were matter in his hands. He has played 
practical jokes on the cleverest detectives, such 
as picking their pockets, dressing them in other 
men's clothes, and all such tricks ; and when they 
were at their wit's end, he would come to their 
rescue and laugh at their simplicity." 

“That's the man. He was always fond of play- 
ing such pranks. Has he left the city? " 

“Yes; yoa will not likely see him for two or 
three years, if then. He has gone to the Arctic 
Seas. Gone to discover the North Pole. If he 
does not discover it, then there is no North Pole — 
that's all. What he can’t do, can’t be done." 

“ But there's no telling what he's up to. My own 
opinion is that he is shadowing the murderer of 
George Wentworth. He's after some big game ! " 

My heart sank. My hopes were dashed to earth. 
Two years ! Two years or more of this killing 
suspense for me ! Two years or longer for poor 
Mrs. Sherman to endure the awful torture. Two 
years or longer for the blood of George Went- 
worth, of Leonore Sherman, perhaps of Jean Grant, 
to cry to heaven in vain for vengeance. Two years 
longer for this incarnate fiend to ply his nefarious 


JEAN GRANT. 


163 

arts upon the unsuspecting sons of Adam. Every 
doubt of his identity was now removed. Colonel 
Windsor, Professor Sydney and Detective John 
Abbott were one and the same person. He must 
have become aware that his identity was sus- 
pected. He must have felt that the hand of justice 
could not much longer be averted. Cunning vil- 
lain! He had gone beyond recall. He had gone 
to the region where no country holds sway ; where 
no sceptre is regnant ; where no laws exist ; where 
no courts have jurisdiction; where crimes are for- 
gotten and injuries forgiven in the fierce struggle 
for life against the rigors of a hyperborean climate. 
Would he ever return? If so, possibly he would 
come back laden with the spoils of victory snatched 
from Polar hardships, and, like Alcibiades of old, 
tearfully implore his fellow-countrymen for forgive- 
ness. If he never returned what then? Should 
my own wrongs, the taking off of my noble friend 
and the ruin of the home, the hopes and the happi- 
ness of Mrs. Sherman and her daughters remain 
forever unavenged? Should a day of retribution 
never come? Should the seal of mysterious silence 
never be. broken ? The very thought drove me 
almost to madness. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

An examination of the registered list of those 
who had joined the exploring expedition satisfied 
me that Colonel Windsor, under the name of John 
Abbott, had accepted an officer’s commission in the 
party, and was now some distance in the Northern 
latitudes. 

It was a time of bitter and memorable experiences 
for me. Like a pendulum, my feelings were alter- 
nately swinging through every phase of mortal joy 
and pain which compass the awful chasm between 
hope and despondency. 

I turned from the naval office sick at heart. An 
indescribable numbness seized my spirit and para- 
lyzed my body. In a state of semi-consciousness, 
I staggered to the nearest police officer and asked 
him to send me to my hotel. I have a dim, dream- 
like remembrance of having been placed in a vehi- 
cle and of having been assisted to my rooms. A 
potion of strong spirits rallied me a little, and I 
vaguely realized my unfortunate dilemma. 

All was lost ! I was pursuing a shadow, and when 
I thought to grasp it, it eluded me and was gone. 
An hour ago, I had told myself that my long, per- 


/£AJV GRANT. 


i6s 

severing labors were about to be crowned with 
success. Now, apparently, I was further than ever 
from success. All was lost. My ambition was 
wrecked ; my hopes dashed to earth ; disaster, defeat 
and confusion were the only fruits which my life 
had yielded ; for these I cared not. The ardent love 
and affection of my youth had died long ago ; I 
mourned not for that. I thought not of myself. I 
was a man with a mission — a mission so great and 
absorbing that my feelings, my aims, my hopes, my 
ambition and my identity had become merged in it. 
In all verity, I was not concerned about myself or 
my feelings; painfully, and with inexpressible sad- 
ness, my tormented mind reverted to Seaton — to 
Dunmore.. 

Where was my once much loved Jean who 
had planted in my bosom love’s blessed flower, 
only to be plucked therefrom by a cruel hand before 
its blossom had matured to fruition ; whose worst 
sin was a too confiding and credulous heart, a dis- 
position to surrender to present exigencies, and a 
desire to please everybody, which prompted her, or, 
rather, coerced her to prefer the near and the 
present to the distant and the absent? Gone! 
ruined ! lost ! dead ! Begging on the streets, or in 
the mad-house! Long ago had I forgiven her for 
the wrong she had done me. Where was George 
Wentworth, my friend, my brother, as true a man 
as God ever made? above reproach; gentle, yet 


JEAN GRANT. 


1 66 

Strong; firm, yet generous: warm-hearted, open- 
handed ; talented above most men, and destined for 
a glorious career; noble; dead! murdered! His 
blood was still unavenged. His murderer still at 
large, untracked, unwhipped of justice. Where was 
she on whom these blows fell with direst severity — 
Mrs. Sherman? At Dunmore ; the solitary occupant 
of her lonely palace ; widowed; childless; nursing 
through dreary days and sleepless, frightsome 
nights, the burden of a mysterious sorrow, too heavy 
for human heart long to endure ; robbed of all save 
her hope of heaven ; each day deepening and multi- 
plying the deep lines of anguish on her beautiful 
face, and weaving about her high, placid brow, a 
crown of more snowy whiteness. To me, to me 
alone could she now look for the offices of a son. 
And I, baffled, dismayed, stupefied, not more by 
the prolonged ardor of my task, than by its futility, 
its hopelessness, its barrenness. 

Where was Leonore? Lost! ruined! At that 
thought, my blood rising to the height of uncon- 
querable passion, surged madly through my veins. 
I clutched my brows in despair; I rushed madly 
from side to side of my room. “ Oh, Leonore ! 
Leonore!’' I exclaimed, while the perspiration 
oozed in large beads from my brow, “ come back to 
me, come back, come back ! I love you ! I love you ! 
Never till now did I know it. Now, now, I know 
that I love you! Come back! you are not lost! 


JEAN GRANT. 167 

You are not dead! It cannot be, it cannot 
be/’ 

I fell prostrate. The servants of the hotel heard 
iny frantic cries and alarmed the house. My door 
was forced. I lay tliere more dead than alive. It 
was like a long agonizing dream of hell. Dark 
spirits haunted the air about me ; I seemed to have 
entered a new world inhabited by ghouls and mon- 
sters who snarled and jeered at my wounded spirit. 
But at last, it seemed, the beautiful Beatrice of my 
Inferno, Leonore, approached me and placed a sooth- 
ing hand on my brow and 1 slept. 

I rose more calm. I determined to control my 
feelings. I called a hack and drove for hours 
through Central Park. In the evening I was more 
composed. 

What should be my next step ? What should I 
do ? Arctic explorations, all at once, interested me. 
Eagerly I studied the history of that subject. I 
would fit out an expedition of my own. I set about 
this. I found plenty of daring men who would 
undertake the perils of the frozen North. But 
money, money was the drawback. I interviewed 
members of the Government and endeavored to en- 
list their sympathy in the scheme. I was informed 
that the Government contemplated a second expedi- 
tion which should leave New York one year after 
the departure of the first, with a fresh supply of 
provisions. 


JEAN GRANT. 


168 

I at once sought out Captain Dalton, who was to 
have the command, and offered to join his party, an 
offer which was readily accepted. 

Dr. Parks had written me that he had ascertained 
beyond doubt that Jean was in New York, and that 
he meant to reach America as soon as he could ar- 
range plans. I had written to him from time to 
time keeping him advised of all that happened. 1 
now wrote to him asking him to join the “ Search ” 
expedition. He wired an affirmative answer. 1 
succeeded in getting him the post of assistant sur- 
geon. He arrived in March, and was duly enrolled. 

I spent what appeared an endless winter be- 
tween New York and Seaton, and during the fol- 
lowing spring, our expedition left New York. 

Our boat, the ‘‘Search,” schooner-rigged and 
specially adapted for her perilous work, was the 
strongest ever built. Six and a half inches of solid 
oak planking upon her sides ; her bow almost a 
solid mass of timber, heavily coated with iron, 
ending in a sharp iron prow; her screw capable of 
being quickly unshipped and placed on deck out of 
danger of the ice ; supplied with extra blades, 
rudder, spars and sails, and a splendid equipment 
of boats. The boats were marvels ; some of them 
would carry between four and five tons, weighed 
only two hundred and fifty pounds, could be folded 
up in a minute's notice and conveyed on a sledge to 
meet the emergency of portaging. 


JEAN GRANT. 


169 

Thousands stood on the shore to bid us God- 
speed, as we left port. Bands played ; salutes of 
ordnance were given, and a sea of waving handker- 
chiefs rose above the thronging scene, as the 
“ Search,” with the Stars and Stripes flying cheerily 
from her mast-head, breasted the blue billows of 
the Atlantic, and steered her course for the North. 

Although my hopes were somewhat raised, I 
could not resist a feeling of sadness and depression 
at the commencement of the long, perilous voyage. 
An undefined apprehension, such as I had never 
experienced before, seemed brooding over my 
spirits. Indeed my long-taxed diligence had begun 
to tell heavily upon my health. Never again 
should I feel that buoyancy and vigor that used to 
support me in the most hazardous situations ; in 
their stead, came a shrinking from encounter, a 
worse than superstitious dread of the future, a 
timidity and solitariness which led me to exchange 
seclusion and retirement for the pleasures of society. 
I had scarcely reached my thirtieth year, yet I 
became sensitively conscious of the fact, that my 
hair was quite gray ; that my face looked old 
enough for fifty; that my step was feeble and uncer- 
tain, that my constitution was prematurely wrecked. 
It appeared to me now that I was about to consum- 
mate the melancholy tragedy, in which I had been 
a leading actor for so many years, by the sacrifice 
of my life. 


1 70 


JEAN GRANT. 


What hope lay before us? Little, if any. Hun- 
dreds of the bravest and best navigators and ex- 
plorers had preceded us into that inhospitable 
region, with no other result than to leave their 
starved and frozen bodies on its bleak, barren ice- 
fields. If the strongest and most skilled veterans 
fared thus, what hope for me ? But then it mat- 
tered not. 

But the stout heart of Dr. Parks, and his care- 
fully stored medicine chest kept up my health and 
spirits. 

I still kept my mission secret. What was my 
mission? To bring Colonel Windsor to justice? 
No ; I had no longer much hope of that. He was 
beyond the region of law and legislators. The 
chances were one hundred to one that he would 
nevjer return. My one desire and hope was to set 
my eyes upon him ; not for vengeance, not for 
punishment ; but that I might learn from his false 
traitorous lips the fate of Jean Grant and Leonore 
Sherman. If I could only find theni^ I would be 
satisfied. If I found him dead, I would rifle his 
pockets and preserve every vestige of his garments, 
that I might, by some happy accident, be led 
thereby to the coveted information. If I found 
him living, I should spring upon him with the fury 
of a wild beast and wring from his wretched heart a 
dying confession of his horrid crimes. 

When the “Search'' reached St. John's, New- 


JEAN GRANT, 


171 


foundland, we were cordially saluted by the Gover- 
nor and citizens. Thence, with our prow pointing 
straight to the north we entered Davis Straits 
and on July 31, reached the coast of Greenland. 
Continuing our course, we found Baffin's Bay freer 
from ice than it had been for years. 

Difficulties might now be expected. We were 
replenished with additional stores and supplies, 
donned our heavy furs and purchased a number of 
sledge dogs. 

Slowly the Search " threaded her way north- 
ward among the numerous ice-floes drifting south- 
ward in the Arctic current. We touched at 
Upernavik and on the 23d of August reached 
Tessuisac, in latitude 73° 30', the uninviting capital 
of the most northerly settlement in the world. 

So far, our inquiries for Captain Fenlon’s expedi- 
tion of the previous year, had been fruitless ; no ti- 
dings had been heard. Northward, still northward, 
we kept our course, each day contending with new 
dangers. Our progress became slower, and still no 
tidings of the missing crew. All we could learn 
from the Innuits was that the expedition had gone 
still further North. November passed. The cold 
became intolerable. The winter, with its two 
months of unbroken night, was approaching. At 
last, our way was completely blocked. We fast- 
ened our hawsers to the ice-bound coast, waiting 
and hoping that the huge ice-fields which impeded 


172 


/EAAT GRANT. 


our further progress, would move southward. 
Winter came on. For weeks, the sun swept around 
the bleak horizon, till at last his upper disk alone 
was visible all day long. 

At last the ice drifted aside, and we were enabled 
to continue our course. When we reached latitude 
82° 16', we espied the wreck of a vessel crushed 
between two huge ice-packs. Half a dozen of us 
launched a boat and inspected the wreck. It was 
the Northern Eagle,'* Captain Fenlon's boat. 

Next day, Assistant-Surgeon Parks, whose ex- 
tended travels rendered him an invaluable acquisi- 
tion to our party, discovered, by the use of his 
powerful glass, a man standing on a lofty ice-pack 
some miles to the north. This was glorious news. 
We steamed a little way northward, when we saw 
two men running down to the water’s edge in 
frantic joy to greet us. 

We were not long in abandoning the Search,” 
and soon reached Captain Fenlon’s camp, where a 
scene of the wildest joy and thanksgiving ensued. 

God bless you ! God bless you ! our brave de- 
liverers,” fell from the lips of our new-found ac- 
quaintances. Men embraced and kissed each other ; 
knelt and fell prostrate before each other in idola- 
trous thankfulness. 

As I approached the camp, my heart beat wildly. 
Mingled joy, sorrow, anger and terror seized me. 
What would the next few minutes bring forth ? 


/EAAT GEAATT. 


173 


Would Colonel Windsor be among the survivors of 
the wreck ? Had he gone down to the sea with his 
crimes unconfessed ? 

Never shall I forget the scenes which met my 
gaze. Only ten of Captain Fenlon’s party were 
found alive. The condition of these was such that 
they could not have lived more than a few days 
longer. A strong wind had blown their tent down ; 
they had not strength enough to raise it again. 
The survivors, too feeble to help themselves, with 
two or three exceptions, had lain there for three 
days and three nights, stretched out in their sleep- 
ing-bags, pressed close to the damp, cold matting 
which formed the floor, by the heavy poles and 
material of the tent. They had no provisions. 
They were emaciated and pale ; and looked more 
like skeletons than living men. Captain Fenlon 
was cold to the waist ; his pulse could hardly be 
felt ; the grim expression of death overspread his 
features ; he was wholly unconscious. 

The condition of his comrades was scarcely less 
critical ; only a few of them were able to speak. 

The surroundings were most desolate and dis- 
heartening. The ice all around the tent was 
strewn with old clothes, cans, jars and debris. 
The most expensive and delicate scientific appara- 
tus, such as chronometers, barometers and glasses, 
were to be seen scattered about. 

My heart was melted even to tears, although my 


174 


JEAN GRANT. 


mind was far more intent on its wearisome mission 
than on anything else. 

Where was Colonel Windsor? 

As we bent above the forms of these dying 
heroes, and saw their faces revealed in the dim 
unsteady light of blubber-lamps, I peered with 
wistful, painful, almost distracting e:^pectation into 
each pair of wildly-staring eyes which looked forth 
from the mass of rubbish, in the hope of finding 
the man whom I sought. In vain. He was not 
among the living. 

We renderd our best services to the sick and 
dying explorers. We removed them to more com- 
fortable quarters in our capacious boat. Later on. 
Dr. Parks accompanied me back to the camp. 
The Aurora Borealis burst forth in all the 
magnificent beauty in which it is seen in these 
northern latitudes, transforming the dreary, north- 
ern night into day. A little way from the camp, 
we found the remains of the dead heroes, partly 
covered in a mound of snow. A track led from the 
the camp to this lonely little graveyard. At once, 
we began overhauling the corpses, thinking that if 
we should find among them the body of Colonel 
Windsor, we might be able to obtain some clue, 
however slight, on his person. 

Horrid to relate! the bodies had been carved and 
nearly all the flesh removed. Nothing was left but 
the white, shining bones and the swollen faces. 


JEAN GRANT, 


m 


The survivors had been driven to cannibalism. 
With sickening hearts, we scanned each face, but 
even here, among the dead, we found no trace of 
Colonel Windsor. 

Investigations which must necessarily be made, 
prevented the “ Search ” from turning homeward 
for at least a fortnight. Large tents were pitched 
on the ice some distance from our boat, in which 
the invalids were laid, and most of our provisions 
stored, lest a treacherous iceberg should crush our 
boat to pieces. 

Impatiently, I awaited the slow recovery of Cap- 
tain Fenlon. At last. Dr. Parks gained for me 
an admission to the Captain’s sick bed. I enquired 
for the fate of Colonel Abbott. 

“Ah,” he said feebly, “the poor Colonel is no 
more. We were starving. He was one of a party 
of three brave fellows who volunteered a trip of 
fifty miles to recover a quantity of beef cached 
some five years ago by Captain Nares, at Cape Isa- 
bella. None of them' ever returned. We found 
one of them, poor Laing, lying dead within a mile 
of the camp. The others have never been heard 
of. They were lost and frozen. The beef was 
never recovered.” 

All feeling left me. All hope was gone. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Fortunately for us, all our supplies and stores 
were removed from the ship to the camp. A glitter- 
ing iceberg whose crystal turrets rose hundreds of 
feet, broke into fragments, tumbling into the 
water with a terrific crash which seemed to shake 
the shore for miles around, and left the “Search,” 
notwithstanding her magnificent strength of con- 
struction, a shattered wreck which drifted along the 
dark tide, locked in the embrace of the splendid 
fragments of the glacier. 

The despair which fell upon us cannot be 
described, cannot be imagined. We looked into 
each others faces speechless, horrified. Our vessel 
crushed into atoms almost, left without access to 
the civilized world, without help, without hope, we 
could only resign ourselves to the certain fate of 
that deadly climate and prepare for death. 

Each day saw the death of some hapless victim 
to the fatal scurvy. Each day, life became more 
intolerable, and death more welcome. Each day 
the irksome monotony tended more and more to 
deaden our feelings of humanity and reduce us to 
the level of the brute creation. The dense, unin- 


JEAN GRANT. 


177 

terrupted night of two months which deepened 
upon us, scarcely symbolized the darker and more 
awful night that brooded over our desponding 
spirits. The strongest and bravest were perishing 
day by day; and I, feeble, depressed and heart-sick 
from the beginning of the voyage, lived on. And 
yet it was not I who lived ; it was my purpose. I 
was no longer a man ; I was a living, incarnate 
purpose. And yet why should I still hope? My 
mission had failed. My purpose had been baffled. 
What hoped remained? None. Still something 
bade me live. Something told me that success yet 
awaited me. If I were only home again! Alas! 
that hope was vain. 

Colonel Windsor was only one of an organized 
confederacy of guilt. He was dead. Alone, friend- 
less, homeless, he had perished with his sins uncon- 
fessed. His body, stark and stiff, lay, unmarked, 
on the bleak Arctic desert. True, he was gone. 
But others remained whose hands had been 
imbrued in innocent blood. Some day, discord 
would lead to exposure ; exposure to conviction. 
Some day, in the distant future, it might be, some 
penitent member of the cabal would in a death-bed 
confession, discover the horrifying details of a life 
of crime. Some day, all would out. Oh ! 
merciful heaven ! if I were only home. I would 
wait for long years; wait till my life had run its 
course, that I might expose the dark conspiracy 
12 


178 


JEAN GRANT. 


which had robbed me of home, of felicity, and of 
friendship, and condemned me to the uneasy life of 
of a foot-sore and heart-broken pilgrim, on the 
shores of a world of infinite pain and sorrow. 

Dr. Parks was apparently as much at home 
amidst these perils as if he were in “ Merrie Eng- 
land.'’ Given a gun, ammunition and something to 
kill, he was contented. He had several hair-breadth 
escapes which he enjoyed hugely. '‘This is a 
blooming fine country for sport,” he used to say 
whilst all the rest of us had the blues. “ A man who 
can't live for a year on brandy and ice with good 
tobacco for dessert, isn’t fit to be a traveller.” 
And other times when he and I were alone, he would 
take Jean’s photograph, which I gave him as a sou- 
venir’and looking at it say, “Garland, I don’t mean 
to die till I find Jean Grant. If I have to walk to 
New York or go by balloon. I’m going to get 
there.” 

The marvels of this continuous Arctic night were 
not for me. I had seen, but without appreciation, 
the matchless magnificence of the Arctic sunset 
wrapping the snow-covered mountains and the 
towering ice-dome with all the glories of color. 
The moon, shining serenely beautiful, through the 
attenuated air, wheeled her continual circles around 
the horizon for days, surrounded by trooping con- 
stellations of stars, brighter than are visible in any 
other part of the-world. Under her bright beams^ 


JEAN GRANT, 


179 


the landscape, as far as the eye could pierce 
through the transparent, lustrous atmosphere, was 
one immense uniform desert, shrouded in garments 
of white ; but the most magnificent spectacle 
beheld in these sterile regions is the magical grand- 
eur of the aurora. 

It is night. The moon has retired beneath the 
horizon. Down through the dense darkness 
which prevails in these higher latitudes, the watch- 
ful stars are peering brilliantly upon us. A 
long, brilliant bow of light pushes itself up from 
the northern horizon. It rises and falls like the 
flowing and ebbing tides. Now it sinks out of 
sight. Now it raises its luminous crest high into 
the misty heavens. For a few moments it dances 
with a pulsating, trembling motion. Suddenly its 
upper rim bursts. Behold ! the whole northern 
heavens, clear to the zenith, are flooded with 
streams of dancing, radiating light. It is like a 
wide expanse of sea on fire, its surface of brilliant 
waves assuming new positions and combinations 
every instant. Another change. The transparent 
beams assume new colors. Near the horizon, they 
are a clear blood-red ; higher up, a pale emerald 
tint. Still higher, they are of a light yellow color. 
The earth glows under their magical light. Yon- 
der, the dark, slumbering sea assumes a beauty 
surpassing its own, as it absorbs the many colored 
beams and pencils of light. The spreading streams 


i8o 


JEAN GRANT. 


begin to converge at the top. They are all moving, 
dancing, changing, like a host of light-clad genii. 
Nearer and nearer their yellow branches grow 
towards each other, till, finally, the phenomenon 
attains its climax, by the formation of a resplendent 
copula of light. The earth is silent, as if spellbound. 
Gradually, the crown disappears ; the bow dissolves ; 
the streams of light shorten ; their merry motion 
becomes slower ; their color melts into faint yellow ; 
fainter, fainter they shine, till they disappear, leav- 
ing the ice-bound desert in its silence, solitude and 
darkness. 

The long night of winter was about over, and the 
re-animating effects of returning spring and twilight 
began to be felt. All day long, the sun, like a 
mighty wheel of fire, seemed to roll along the 
terrestrial horizon. For about six hours out of the 
twenty-four it was behind the great mountains of 
snow and ice to the North — this we called night — 
during the rest of the time it was morning twilight. 
This change had not come too soon ; our provisions 
were almost exhausted ; our numbers had decreased 
to twenty-five, all told. Brave Captain Fenlon had 
been numbered with the dead. Our only course 
was to commence a hazardous retreat along that 
barren, desolate shore, so as to reach some point 
accessible to navigation. But how could we do so? 
We had only two or three small boats left. We 
were too weak to contend with the extraordinary 


JEAN GRANT. 


I8l 


perils of a southward march. Now the bitter 
north wind drove the massive pack crashing against 
the shore ; now the south wind drove it again into 
the narrow channels, making navigation impossible; 
now the dense fog turned day into night. Our 
position was indeed critical. 

One night, we were awakened from our miserable 
sleep by a tremendous upheaval of the earth and a 
long resounding series of rumbling noises, resem- 
bling distant thunder. We were dreadfully alarmed. 
It seemed as if the whole earth were breaking to 
pieces. ‘‘An earthquake! '' we all exclaimed simul- 
taneously. We pi*ayed for morning. When it 
came, we perceived that the huge iceberg, on 
which we had encamped believing it to be terra 
Jirma^\\7}id been . dislodged by the swelling under- 
tide and was moving slowly southward in the 
treacherous current. “A good idea,*' said Parks. 
“ We're all right now. We'll reach the Equator 
and sit on it till we're picked up. I always liked 
the Equator. It holds the balance of power." 

“ Southward with fleet of ice 
Sailed the corsair Death ; 

Wild and fast blew the blast. 

And the east wind was his breath. 

“ His lordly ships of ice 
Glistened in the sun ; 

On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 


JEAN GRANT. 


182 

“ His sails of white sea mist 
Dripped with silver rain ; 

Ijiit where he passed there were cast 
Leaden shadows o’er the main.” 


Southward, southward we drifted slowly, through 
weary days and horrid, sleepless nights. We were 
able to kill an occasional seal, thanks to the daring 
and skill of our native hunter, Joss, which helped 
us to stay the ravages of scurvy. Our supplies 
were almost gone ; we began to live on sealskin. 

Southward, still southward we move. The ice 
is getting thinner, and we fear every moment that the 
expansive field on which we are drifting will break 
in pieces. We are killing and eating our dogs. 
We cook our meals over tln^ lamp. 

The sun shines beautifully. We love to see it. 
It reminds us of our own fair homes. It brings out 
a fine large seal which falls a victim to the unerring 
aim of our good spirit, Joss. This rejoices our 
hearts for a few days, but we have no reprieve from 
our ominous apprehensions. The warm sun which 
brings out the seals will also dissolve our crystal 
ship. Everywhere, as far as the eye can reach, 
there is nothing but icebergs and floes, breaking, 
crashing and colliding, with a noise like the roar of 
battle. We expect the floe to break into a thou- 
sand pieces every moment. 

Southward, forever southward, we are drifting. 
We are starving. We have eaten nothing for a 


/£AJV GKANT. 


183 


week. We are all too weak to help ourselves. Joss 
stands it better than any of us. The end is near. 
Joss goes off in search of food. Thank God! he 
has killed another large seal. A wild storm on the 
sea. The floe begins breaking up. Our camp, our 
kyack, and most of our utensils are swept over- 
board. In the morning, the floe drifts against the 
coast of Greenland at Cape Farewell. Again we 
drift seaward. 

Southward, southward, ever southward. Seals 
are abundant. We have plenty to eat. Terrible 
storms prevail. Our health is bad. Our heads, 
faces and hands are swollen to twice their usual 
size. 

The sun shines warmly and brightly from a 
cloudless sky. The ice has cleared away. We can 
now see the gorgeous appearance and enormous 
dimensions of the iceberg on which we float. It is 
sixty miles long, and almost as wide, while its 
crystal towers rise glittering with prismatic splendor 
three hundred feet above the sea-level. The bases 
of these burnished columns shone like Parian 
marble studded with gems of opal. From out dpep 
Cimmerian caverns, shone twinkling stars like the 
eyes of luring spirits. Where the edge overhung 
the water, every shade and tint of the emerald is 
interspersed with streaks of cobalt-blue. Down 
icy mountain-sides, leaped and gambolled streams 
and cascades, shining like molten-silver. Now and 


JEAN GRANT. 


184 

then, a tall column trembles for a moment, falls 
with a tremendous crash on its sloping foundations, 
and tumbles in fragments into the ocean. 

Southward, yet southward. New difficulties 
interpose ; again we are face to face with starvation. 
A violent storm. We are camped near the edge of 
the ice-field so that we may the better keep a lookout 
for passing boats. Before we can change our posi- 
tion the sea strikes us, washes over us and carries 
away everything, leaving us drenched, benumbed, 
perishing. Again and again, the cold heavy waves 
wash over us. It takes all our strength to keep 
ourselves from being washed overboard. One of 
our number dies. We are forced to accept canni- 
balism. God pity us ! It is awful ! 

Dr. Parks declared that human flesh wasn’t half 
bad. ‘‘If one half of the world knew how good the 
other half tasted the economic question of increas- 
ing populations would be solved,” he said. But we 
all feel stronger now. Joss is himself again. He 
goes off and shoots a huge bear. His gun, which 
he prizes above all things, is the only thing saved. 
Without it, we must inevitably have perished. Our 
spirits revive. Joss kills two seals. We have food 
in abundance. My own health- has improved under 
the generous and almost fatherly treatment of Dr. 
Parks. I am able to walk again. We go off. Dr. 
Parks and I, on a hunting expedition, with Joss. 
The day is serenely beautiful. We are several 


/£AJ\r GRANT, 


185 


miles from the rude camp which we improvised. 
Joss sees a seal, dodges off among the tall cliffs and 
columns, and leaves us. We wait. He returns 
not. He has forgotten us in the eager chase. We 
begin to retrace our steps. We cannot. We are 
lost ! 

‘‘Gad, old fellow!’' exclaimed Dr. Parks, “ we 
are elected ; we are between the devil and the deep 
sea with a strong bent towards the devil. Let’s get 
up a toboggan and slide down these slopes to keep 
ourselves warm.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


Dr. Parks was an experienced traveller, and 
I trusted that he would be able to find our way 
back. But he was quite as much at sea as myself. 
The compass afforded no help, since our gigantic 
ice-ship often performed one or more revolutions in 
a day. Night was approaching, and we knew that 
a night’s exposure would mean almost certain 
death ; yet we were so inured to hardships and 
dangers, that we could endure much more than 
ordinary men. We struggled on aimlessly. Night- 
fall found us lost on this frigid, shelterless iceberg. 
We dared not lie down to sleep on the bare ice. 
Our only hope of surviving the coldness and hu- 
midity of the air of that night, was by keeping 
constantly on the move. We wandered all night. 
Without food, our bodies began to give. out. Dn 
Parks had with him a small phial of brandy which 
he used as a medicine in emergencies. Several 
times during the night we moistened our lips with 
this. 

Morning came. We were too weak to walk fur- 
ther. We could only lie down and perish. As 
the dawn appeared we climbed on to one of the 


JEAN GRANT, 


187 

high bases of ice, in order to be more easily 
detected by our companions. We sat down and 
resolved to submit to our fate. 

Dr. Parks took out his small phial in which 
there yet remained a few ounces of liquor. “ We 
may as well live as long as this will keep us alive, 
old man,” said he, humorously, for he was one of 
those jolly Englishmen who can die with as much 
composure as they can live. 

I raised the phial to my lips, but dropped it again 
before I had tasted the liquor. Something in front 
of me a few rods, which looked like a bundle of 
rags, attracted my attention. ‘‘ Look ! what's 
that?” I exclaimed ; and we both rose to our feet 
at once by sheer strength of excitement. We stag- 
gered forward, and there, in an elevated cavern 
formed by a projecting ice-front, lay a man, in a 
most deplorable condition. His body was sewed up 
in a bag after the manner of Arctic voyageurs. 
His frame was reduced to a skeleton ; his fingers 
were like pipe stems ; and his face was swollen and 
distorted. His long, dishevelled hair, as white as 
snow, fell far down on his shoulders; and his beard 
was also extremely long and white. 

He did not seem to realize our presence for a time. 
He was in a horrid condition of filth, misery and suf- 
ering. We took in the situation in a flash. This 
poor wretch was also a member of some exploring 
party who had wandered away from his company 


i88 


JEAN GRANT. 


and got lost ; beside him lay a large quantity of pem- 
ican which had sustained him through the terrible 
ordeal. Me had lain there for months, unable to 
move his body or help himself in any way. Dr. 
Parks felt his pulse and administered a few drops of 
brandy. His feet and legs up to the knees had liter- 
ally rotted off, and his right arm lay withered and 
dead by his side. It struck us little less than mirac- 
ulous that life should still burn within this wasted, 
putrefying form. 

Into this sheltered cave the sun shone warmly^ 
so that Dr. Parks immediately took out his knife 
and began ripping open the sack which encased our 
unfortunate fellow-sufferer. His clothes, matted 
and rotten, clung to the sack and exposed his naked 
chest to our view, on which I observed a black star, 
marked with India ink. Suddenly, the man re- 
vived a little. I saw him open his eyes — such eyes, 
black, piercing, terrible, eloquent of joy, pain, alarm, 
despair. Never had I seen a pair of eyes express so 
much. Those awful black eyes ! Where had I seen 
them before? Colonel Windsor! Colonel Wind- 
sor! Colonel Windsor!** I shouted, overcome 
with delirious joy and excitement, “At last! at 
last! at last ! ’* 

I snatched up the phial and fiercely, madly, thrust 
the contents into the dying man*s throat. I knelt 
above his face. I put my lips close to his ear and 
cried — “Colonel Windsor! I am Arthur Garland! 


/EAAT GRANT, 


189 


You are dying! tell me, I pray you, why you mur- 
dered George Wentworth. Tell me, before you die, 
where are Jean Grant and Leonore Sherman?” 

He rallied for a moment, and on hearing those 
names mentioned, opened his eyes widely and 
looked at me. His lips were moving. I put my 
ear close to his mouth that I might catch every 
syllable he uttered. 

‘‘Too late! too late!” he whispered. “All is 
over now. 1 shall say nothing,” and a calm, defiant 
smile overspread his ghastly features. 

“Not yet too late,” I exclaimed fervently, “to 
repent of your wrong-doing. Not yet too late to 
undo much of the wrong which you have inflicted 
on your innocent and unsuspecting wife and her 
family. Not yet too late to tell me where and how 
I may find your victims if they still live, that I may 
deliver them from their chains of fire. Not yet too 
late to confess your sins before God and die in the 
peace and happiness of his sovereign forgiveness. 
Speak! for God's sake speak, ere it be too late.” 

He muttered, in a hoarse whisper, “ I robbed you 
of a wife ; I murdered George .Wentworth ; and 
Leonore — Ah ! yes; I did it all ; Arthur Garland 
you have had your revenge ; I have been punished, 
let me die in peace.” 

“You are a cool villain; you must have had a 
chill ! ” exclaimed Dr. Parks with some little 
emotion. 


/EAAT GRANT. 


190 

‘‘Think not of me^ Colonel Windsor. I freely 
forgive you. I seek no revenge. Think not of me. 
Think of Jean ! Think of Leonore! Think of poor 
Mrs. Sherman ! Tell me about them. Speak, man, 
speak! You are dying. Do not meet a despised 
and outraged God with your sins unconfessed. One 
word ! Quick! Where is your wife.^^ Where is 
Leonore 

“They are both living. They are both — ** 

A loud roar. A trembling of the ice beneath us. 
A long resounding crash. The ice-field had at last 
split asunder. It parted beneath the dying man’s 
miserable couch. In an instant. Colonel Windsor 
and myself were precipitated into the black, angry 
waters. “ O Christ,” 1 prayed aloud, “ save us ! save 
us ! ” I clung with a death-grip to my helpless com- 
panion. I must save him- I must hear one more 
word from his lips. Better die than live, losing all I 
had to live for. Down, down, down, into the surging 
billows. A thought, a terrible thought of my loved 
Leonore, a swift ecstatic panorama of all my past life 
— I remembered no more. 

I found myself, some hours later, lying on the ice, 
with Dr. Parks ^bending above me. He had 
leaped into the water and rescued me in the nick 
of time. 

My senses returned slowly ; and as they quick- 
ened, the terrible realization of my predicament 
was borne in on my soul. Colonel Windsor had 


JEAN GRANT. 


I9I 

gone down into the deep, silent sea, to return no 
more ; truly his punishment had been more severe 
and long-tormenting than human laws ever inflicted, 
than human minds ever conceived. For that I 
cared not. The excruciating pangs of his long 
death had not restored the love, the happiness and 
the friendship which his criminality had blasted 
forever. Who can contemplate -for a moment, 
without experiencing the profoundest sympathy 
and sorrow, the luckless result of my long quest. 
To have devoted the best years of my life to my 
self-imposed task ; to have crossed continents, 
oceans, mountains and deserts ; to have banished 
myself from friends, and wandered, an exile, in 
foreign lands, among savage people ; to have 
endured the fever-laden sun of the tropics, and 
dared the untold hardships of Arctic night and 
winter ; to have drifted for six long, perilous 
months on this piece of ice, with death staring me 
in the face all the time ; to have done all this for 
the sake of those I love, and for the punishment of 
a man who had inflicted such unspeakable wrongs 
upon them ; to have abandoned hope a thousand 
times ; and to have found him when hope had 
perished, and in a place where no mortal would be 
sought for ; to have heard him confess his crimes 
and ask that he might die in peace ; and, hardest of 
all, to have heard his lips just beginning to tell me 
how I might undo some of the evils of his career of 


192 


JEAN GRANT. 


crime ; and then, then, before the words were 
uttered to have had him snatched from my arms 
and hurled headlong into the hungry billows ! 

I hate you. I curse you, Dr. Parks, for hav- 
ing saved me ; why not let me go down with 
him.^ Why not let me escape from the hell of 
my own fruitless existence? Why should I live? 
What have I to live for? 

Ton my soul, old boy,” he answered, ‘‘you are 
a grateful fellow. I nearly lost my own life in 
getting you out of this scrape, and this is my re- 
ward. I want to see all the other fellows buried 
decently before you and I kick the bucket.” 

For a while longer I lay in a condition of mind 
resembling a horrible nightmare. 

After a little, I began to feel more comfortable. 
I had gained something, at least. I had obtained 
some reward for my labors. I had found Colonel 
Windsor.^ I had met him face to face and had 
extorted a full confession of his crimes from his 
dying lips. I had seen him lying in a condition 
of privation, squalor, disease, and agony, that hu- 
man lips dare not express, and human hearts would 
shrink from contemplating. Better than all, I had 
learned that Jean and Leonore were still alive. 
After all, I might yet be able to find them. If I 
were only in New York! But of reaching a place 
of safety, there was little hope. 

The iceberg had been broken into fragments. 


/EAjV gkant. 


193 


Suddenly, we heard a low, dull sound, something 
like the splash of some large body falling into the 
the water. We could see nothing. The sound 
was repeated at intervals. We partook of a small 
quantity of Colonel Windsor’s pemican. We were 
strengthened. The sounds continued to be heard 
by us every now and then. 

Dr. Parks climbed to the top of the highest frag- 
ment. He descried, distant about a mile, a small 
column of smoke curling into the air. When the 
smoke had cleared away, he saw a man standing on 
another summit. It was Joss, brave, magnanimous 
Joss. He had been in search of us all night. The 
sound we heard was that of his gun, which he was 
firing off every few minutes, in the hope of attract- 
ing our attention. Dr. Parks hoisted his hand- 
kerchief for a signal and shouted at the top of his 
voice. Joss answered the signal, and in less than 
an hour he had reached us. Later on in the day, 
we were brought, amidst great rejoicing, into camp 
again. 

Evening came down upon us again. Near dark, 
we observed a light as of a passing boat. We 
hoisted burning torches, made of rags steeped in 
blubber, and Joss turned our single firearm to the 
best account. A heavy fog, however, soon ob- 
scured the light, and though we sat up all night 
no help came. In the morning no trace of the 
vessel was to be seen. 

13 


194 


/EAAT GA^ANT. 


We have now been on the ice nearly seven 
months, and have travelled nearly two thousand 
miles. The immense ice-field has crumbled and 
melted. Our tent is pitched on a small, unsteady 
floe, liable at any moment to break to pieces or 
turn over and engulf us in the brine. 

Night again. We dare not sleep. The ice is 
dissolving rapidly. Our end seems near. The fog 
is so heavy that morning comes late. . About ten 
o’clock, the sun high up in the heavens, peers 
through for the first time. Brighter and brighter 
shines the day. The heavy mist has been dissi- 
pated. What is that moving near us? Is it a 
ship ? We can scarcely see it yet. It looks like a 
vessel. The mists have all gone. A ship ! a 
ship! a ship ! ” We all exclaimed at once. '' God 
be praised, a ship ! ” 

In a few minutes, she stood near us. Boats 
were lowered from her side which conveyed us from 
our icy home. At last we were safe ! At last 1 

We’ve had a devilish lot of fun on that old 
hulk,” said the imperturbable Doctor, it’s been 
rare sport, I tell you, and I wouldn’t mind going 
on another such shooting excursion. But the 
brandy was getting low and a fellow likes to have 
a few swigs to steady his aim, you know. By Jove, 
Garland, I feel sorry to leave the old decks ! ” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


We were shown great kindness by Captain 
Forbes and the other officers of the “ Leonidas.” 
The health of the rescued party improved rapidly. 

We were within a few days' sail of New York. 
Dr. Parks wished to speak with me privately. On 
our going apart he said : — 

“Garland, I have a little book here that may be 
useful to us, when we reach New York.” 

“ In what way ? ” I asked. 

“ I cannot say just now,” he replied. 

“What is it?” I asked with some impa- 
tience. 

“ Nothing much ; it is not an Esquimaux Bible ; 
it is only a diary,” he answered, with teasing 
nonchalance. 

“ A diary ; yours ? ” I queried with abrupt- 
ness. 

“No; not mine,” he responded, mechanically, 
turning over the leaves and stopping now and then 
to look at something of interest to him ; “ not mine ; 
I have not the patience and punctuality adequate 
to the task of keeping a diary. This is a devilish 
queer-looking book. I found it on the ice the 


196 


/EAJV GRANT. 


other day. It is a relic of the late Colonel Wind- 
sor.” 

His diary ? ” 

I think so ; but I am sorry to say he was a very 
unmethodical book-keeper. While you and he were 
having a little race to see who would drown first, 
and praying that the Undines would transport you 
to the bottom of the ocean with more than their 
ordinary alacrity, I cast about to see what I could 
lay my hands on to further our search.” 

Bravo ! Dr. Parks ; you are a genius indeed,” 
I exclaimed with a degree of delighted enthusiasm 
which almost impelled me to embrace the doc- 
tor. 

‘‘ Keep cool ; don't be a fool. Garland. Don’t ex- 
pect too much. I fear there is nothing in the book 
that will promote our inquiries very much.” 

I sat beside him. With eyes almost bursting 
from their sockets, we examined together every 
page, sentence, letter and hieroglyphic which the 
book contained. Here was a little note of an inci- 
dent ; here a catalogue of camp rations ; here a 
message to Captain Fenlon which never reached its 
destination. 

This message related minutely to the fate of the 
little company who had volunteered to bring in the 
pemican cached by the Nares expedition. A storm 
had befallen them. They had lost their way. One 
of the party had been frozen to death. Colonel 


JEAN GRANT, 


197 


Windsor had had his feet and legs frozen so that he 
could not walk. The third had set off for help and 
never returned. Colonel Windsor had had plenty 
to eat. He had taken refuge in the ice-cavern. 
He said nothing about his awful sufferings. Quite 
as a matter of course, he informed Captain Fenlon 
that both his feet and his right hand had rotted off, 
but that he meant to li'^e as long as he could. 

But this was all. Not a woman’s name ; not 
a word of love, or farewell, or regret, or desire, or 
fear; not a wish for safety, not a prayer; not a 
man’s name or initials or address. He had pre- 
served his mysterious character to the last. 

On the title page was a large black star. 
Above it were written in a bold hand From No. 
I,” and under it, “To No. 19.” 

I remembered at once having observed the same 
mark on Colonel Windsor’s bare breast. 

This was our only clue. What was its import? 
We both concurred in the opinion that it meant, if 
anything, that Colonel Windsor was a member of 
some secret oi^anization whose talisman was a 
black star, and whose members were known not by 
their names, but by numbers understood only by 
fellow-members. 

Dr. Parks suggested that I should pass among 
the list of survivors of the ill-fated “ Search ” under 
an assumed name, so that the members of this 
supposed organization would be led to believe that 


198 


JEAN GRANT. 


I had perished in the Northern seas, and would 
possibly be thrown off their guard and lured into a 
fancied security. Accordingly, I was announced as 
Lieutenant Conroy. 

We arrived in New York. We were welcomed 
by the whole nation. Not for me, the splendid 
naval demonstration ; not for me, the heavy line of 
grim, slow-moving men-of-war, with gold-clad offi- 
cers on their decks, and gallant tars saluting from 
their riggings, with welcomes thundering from their 
mighty lips ; not for me, the glorious strains of 
‘‘Home Sweet Home;” and “Home Again,” 
played with such effect as to bring tears from all 
eyes ; not for me, the smiles and waving handker- 
chiefs and thrown kisses of the fair daughters of 
America ; not for . me, the land-procession, the 
brilliant banquet, the matchless panegyrics uttered 
by the lips of the most eloquent statesmen. I saw 
and heard as one in a dream. I was a stranger in 
my own home. No fair hand grasped my own and 
welcomed me back again. No loving heart met me 
to soothe the fatal pain that preyed on my own. 

The pomp and show of public praise were cold, 
empty forms which only added to the wretchedness 
of my life. 

“ Leonore, Leonore,” my heart kept whispering, 
“oh, my lost, my loved one, if I could see you 
even for a moment ; if I could hear you speak 
one word of encouragement and welcome, I should 


JEAN GRANT. 


199 


be the happiest man on earth. Leonore, I love 
you ; death itself cannot quench my love ; hard- 
ships and sufferings but increase its potency. 
Leonore, my love, I shall find you. I have not 
come through all the experiences of these long years 
for nothing. I shall find you yet. I shall find you, 
love you and make you my wife. God wills it, or I 
should have died long ago. God wills it. I shall 
find you.’' 

The turmoil over, the Doctor and I planned our 
campaign. We soon found that there existed in 
the city a club known as the ‘‘ Black Star League.” 
We set out to find it, expecting that it would be 
located somewhere among the slums of the city. 
Judge of our surprise, when we discovered it to be 
one of the most elegantly and expensively furnished 
restaurants in the city, occupying a prominent place, 
right in the midst of the great thoroughfare on the 
corner of Blank Avenue and Old Street. 

At first we were afraid to connect our clue with 
this magnificent establishment. For several days, 
we watched the class of persons who frequented it. 
They were sports. We procured for ourselves 
sporting suits of the most approved fashion, bottle- 
green, tight and conspicuous. We completed our 
attire with an abundance of cheap, flashy jewelry 
and the highest silk hats in the trade. For a few 
days, we contented ourselves with taking merely 
a few refreshments. We became acquainted with 


200 


JEAN GRANT. 


the attendants. Next, we ventured to take an 
occasional lunch in the dining hall, with its mo- 
saic floor, frescoed ceiling and exquisite drapery, 
mirrors and silver. 

We were soon regular frequenters of the 
place. We had plenty of money and improved 
every opportunity of showing it. There were 
evidently a dozen or more proprietors. We 
could learn nothing of what constituted member- 
ship. By this time, we had concluded that it was a 
secret association, that the membership was limited, 
and that the proprietors and members were gam- 
blers. We often passed through the dining-room 
into the splendidly equipped billiard-hall and had a 
game. To attract as much attention as possible, we 
played for pretty heavy stakes. We often pretended 
to lose our tempers. We were good game. 

Our hosts marked us for their own. We played 
with them for money and lost. Finally they invited 
us into a secret room, in which a large number of 
small tables and easy chairs invited the unwary to a 
game of cards. • We played and drank night after 
night with varying i»esults, on the whole, however, 
losing pretty heavily. Our host’s affections were 
commensurate with the depth of our purses. We 
had abundance of money, and so we were the most 
welcome guests. All the time we had associated 
with these men, we never heard a name, nor did they 
inquire for ours. This increased our suspicions. 


/EAAT GRANT. 


201 


One evening, after the game was over, we 
sauntered about the room freely. At the upper 
end of the room, stood a large table. We moved 
towards it. In a figurative sense, it recalled King 
Arthur’s Sixty Knights of the Round Table. It 
was surrounded by twenty chairs which were 
attached to the floor. This council-table was of 
mahogany, inlaid with a star of black marble in 
front of each chair, numbered in gold figures from 
one to twenty. My heart bounded with sudden 
joy and expectation at this sight, for now, beyond 
peradventure we were among the comrades of 
Colonel Windsor. 

We were morally certain that we were on the 
right trail. But to follow it to ultimate success 
required more patience and tact than I possessed. 
I knew this. I had less confidence than ever in 
myself. For the very joy which I found awakening 
within me, increased my impatience and seriously 
interrupted my equanimity. Dr. Parks constantly 
cautioned me to be patient. He was always a man 
of ice. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Dr. Parks found it necessary to leave the city 
for a few days to attend a meeting of Travellers 
and Geographers Boston. I promised Wm when 
we parted not to visit the Black Star’* till he re- 
turned. But time hung heavily on my hands. My 
mind constantly preoccupied with its one absorbing 
theme, refused to find amusement, interest or occu- 
pation in any other. 

It was a pleasant evening, when, an hour or so 
after nightfall, I found myself sauntering aimlessly 
along Blank Avenue. 

Something like instinct drew my steps toward the 
“ Black Star.” I passed and repassed its brilliantly 
lighted windows. I heard the sound of jest and 
laughter issuing from its interior. I surveyed with 
more precision than ever before, its massive propor- 
tions, its immense length and breadth, its towering 
form, reaching far above the surrounding buildings, 
and the wealth of architectural skill and beauty lav- 
ished upon its imposing facades. Far up, it seemed 
at the very top of the structure, a dim, flickering 
light struggled through the lattice of a small win- 
dow, the only evidence of life in the lofty garret. 


/BAJV GRANT. 


203 


As I looked long and earnestly at the feeble rays 
of light which streamed from that solitary case- 
ment, a desperate curiosity to see whom or what 
that lonely room contained, seized me. 

On the impulse of the moment, I formed a dar- 
ing resolve. I forgot I was alone and unaided. I 
forgot that the odds were a hundred to one against 
me. I forgot all the perils which my resolution 
involved. Something seemed to say to me, that 
the occupant of that room was Leonore Sherman, 
and that was enough to banish from my mind 
every thought save that of reaching her, of redeem- 
ing her. 

I entered the Black Star Restaurant.’’ I 
played a game of billiards with unusual dash and 
success. I was soon in the secret room sitting 
opposite No 19,’’ at the council-table, playing 
ecarte for large stakes. I drank freely, or rather pre- 
tended to do so. I wanted to lose all the money 
I had and feign drunkenness as a solace for my 
heavy losses. But luck always favors a man who 
can be indifferent. I won everything. 

My affected intoxication increased somewhat rap- 
idly, but my luck kept pace until my pockets were 
filled with crisp bills and I. O. U.’s. The game 
ceased. My companions were in a state of malicious 
indignation. Their secret nods, winks and signals 
betokened danger to me. But I knew it was only 
my money they wanted, and by simulating a condi- 


204 


JEAN GRANT, 


tion of insensible inebriation, I could afford them 
an easy opportunity of possessing themselves of my 
wealth, without the necessity of their resorting to 
personal violence. 

I leant forward above the table, threw my head 
on my folded arms, and acted, as best I could, the 
part of a stupidly drunk man. For a time, my 
boisterous companions continued their play, then, 
noticing my condition, several of them approached 
me, slapped me on the back, shook me, atid, having 
convinced themselves that I was helplessly drunk, 
left me and informed their comrades that there was 
‘^good game about.” Then the lights were turned 
down, and the members of the Black Star League 
assembled in silent conclave in that part of the 
room most remote from me. i 

Now and then, a whisper reached me, from which 
I gleamed that they meant to rob me. In half an 
hour I heard the locks being fastened. The lights 
were turned out. Stealthy steps approached me. 
Half a dozen men, one of whom carried a dark lan- 
tern, surrounded me. They gave me a few rough 
shakes and slaps to satisfy themselves of my utter 
unconsciousness. One of the men rifled my pockets, 
counted the money on the table before me. Nine 
thousand six hundred dollars ! He proceeded, with 
criminal deliberation, to divide the booty, allotting 
to each of his coadjutors his equitable share of the 
inequitable spoil. 


/EAJV GRANT. 


205 


Next, they carried me up two flights of stairs, 
threw me on a bed, turned the key and left me to 
to my fate. 

For hours I lay there motionless as a corpse, 
almost afraid to breathe, lest these fiends should 
return and complete their night’s work by taking 
my life. Where I was, I knew not. Many were 
my conjectures as to what final disposal they meant 
to make of me. 

All that long night supreme silence seemed to 
reign. Not a step, not a word was to be heard. 
At length, I rose to a sitting posture, removed my 
shoes and lit a match. I was in a large, well fur- 
nished bedroom. A lamp stood on a small table 
beside the bed. I lit it and turned the light as low 
as possible. I tried the door and found it locked. 
For a time, I contented myself with examining 
closely every article within my comfortable prison. 
Noiselessly, I rummaged the drawers, examined 
the bed-clothes, the table and chairs, but found 
nothing of an unusual character. 

While thus occupied, I bore the lamp in my left 
hand. I was about returning it to the small circular 
.table, when I discerned, right in the centre, a diminu- 
tive, black star, scarcely an inch from point to point, 
and underneath it, in small characters, No 19.” 
Great God ! Colonel Windsor’s room ! It was 
here he secluded himself in comfort, wealth and 
retirement, all those long years, whose every day 


206 


JEAN GRANT, 


was numbered in characters of fire on my heart. 
It was here his base, designing mind had contrived 
those dark operations of villany and crime which 
had nonplussed the combined vigilance and espion- 
age of the continent's detective force. It was 
here he had matured the bloody project of murder- 
ing poor George Wentworth, and the scarcely less 
heinous undertaking of cajoling Jean Grant into a 
mock marriage, and of abducting Leonore Sher- 
man. 

My blood ran cold, as the thoughts of all the 
crime that had been concocted within the precincts 
of this room, rushed like a horrid phantasm through 
my brain. What fate had brought me hither ? 

I took a bunch of keys from my pocket and 
soon found one which fitted the lock. I drew 
open the door, after extinguishing the light, and 
looked out. All was darkness. To my right, how- 
ever, a broad stairway leading to the next flat 
above, was rendered visible by a small gas jet 
which sent forth a most feeble, sickly light. 

I astended the steps and saw another flight lead- 
ing still higher. At the head of this flight another 
small gas jet was burning dimly. I ascended, and, 
stood in a large, open court, surrounded by several 
suites of rooms. 

A wretched old woman instantly sprang from a 
couch, near by, and uttered a loud, piercing scream 
of fear and alarm. 


/ 


JEAN GRANT, 20 / 

^'Hush! hush! For God's sake, woman, keep 
quiet. I will do you no harm. Speak low! Don’t 
be afraid of me ! I am a guest of the house, I am 
a member of the club. Speak a word with me and 
I will give you money enough to make you rich, 
rich, rich, for your life!” 

You must not come here. Who sent you here? 
Go back, sir, go back, right away, or I shall alarm 
the house ! Begone! Begone ! ” 

One word, my good, my kind, my gracious 
woman ! One word, and I shall go.” I put my 
hand in my pocket, with the intention of offering 
her a large bribe, but alas, my pockets were empty. 
I snatched a valuable pin from my tie, drew a ring 
off my finger ; these with my valuable watch and 
chain, I thrust into her bony hands. 

To-morrow, to-morrow, I shall give you more ; 
I shall give you more gold than you can hold in 
your apron. Now listen. Speak not! Listen! 
You have a woman under your charge here^ a young 
and very fair woman. How is she? Is she living? 
Speak not; wait till I hape done! Is she living? 
Is she zvell ? ” 

The woman was paralyzed. She stood speech- 
less before me, like a statue of stone. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The gray light of the morning was just begin- 
ning to steal through the great, rich windows, and 
fill the room with vague, impenetrable shadows. 
For a few moments, we stood motionless and 
speechless, my overmastering solicitude forbidding 
me to say another word, and the ghost-like figure 
of the woman remaining rooted to the floor by 
the dangerous position into which she had been 
forced. 

“You are wrong, sir, you are mistaken. What 
do you mean? I am the only woman here. Here, 
I must not take these. I dare not,! ” she said, 
reluctantly offering me the articles I had given 
her. 

“ No ; I do not want them ; I do not need them; 
I have plenty ; I ‘ am rich ; keep them, my good 
woman. When I shall come again, I shall fill 
both your hands with gold. But in the name 
of God, speak the truth. Where is this beau- 
tiful young woman*? I shall never leave this 
room, till I have seen her. Do not trifle with 
me. Do not speak falsely. I am desperate ; I 
shall see Leonore Sherman, Have you a child. 


/EAJV GRANT. 


209 


a daughter ? Would you like to have her torn 
from your heart, by a band of robbers, and 
chained in darkness and thraldom ? Think, woman, 
think what you are doing ! ’’ 

‘‘ Hush ! Some one is coming/' 

Footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. 

'‘Oh, sir! "she exclaimed in tones of low, sup- 
pressed terror, “ conceal yourself, quick, quick, 
quick ! They are coming, they will kill me ! Oh, 
for the love of mercy, sir, hide yourself ! " 

She pointed towards a room with half-open 
door. 

With noiseless steps, I entered it. I had my 
own safety and interests to further as well as those 
of this wrinkled, wretched hag. I closed the door 
and quietly secured the lock. 

For a couple of hours, footsteps* were to be 
heard passing and repassing frequently, so that I 
did not dare, to stir out of my hiding-place. Then 
followed a long silence, during which, I busied my- 
self formulating various schemes by which I could 
reach the heart of the woman who kept watch at 
the head of the stairs. 

Suddenly, I heard a woman's voice — a voice of 
such strange, sad sweetness, that its lowest tones 
held me spellbound — singing a song I have never 
forgotten, a song the rrlemory of whose first two 
words, “ No more," even, as I write, fills my heart 
with indescribable pain. 

14 


210 


/EAAT GRANT. 


“No more sweet morning comes to me, 
With golden light and music low ; 
All day, my cell is dark as night ; 

All day, my heart is full of woe. 


“ When shall the hour of freedom come, 

And my lost hope return to me } 

Oh, when shall Heaven hear my prayer, 

And set me free, and set me free } 

When the last line, with its trembling, soul- 
rapt appeal, fell from the lips of the singer, I knew, 
beyond doubt, that the prisoner whose forlorn heart 
thus poured out its early plaint, was Leonore Sher- 
man. ‘‘ Leonore ! Leonore ! you shall be free ! 
I swear it! ” I whispered to myself. 

The song continued — 

“ Vainly my dear old mother yearns 
To fold me to her kind, true heart ; 

May God forgive the cruel hands 
That tore our trusting hearts apart. 

“ Oh, gentle sister, loved and lost, 

Thy gracious prayers ascend for me ; 

Oh, may thy pleading tears avail. 

And set me free, and set me free.” 

Never since the world began, did a song of 
prayer rise from a woman’s lips, with more sweet- 
ness, sadness and sense of need than this. It seemed 
to me that no mortal could have sung so exquisitely. 
It was not the words of the lips ; not the language 
of the heart ; it was the voice of a spotless soul, 


/EAAT GRANT. 


2II 


injured, pinioned in darkness, yet conscious of its 
own divine origin and destiny, the sound of whose 
spiritual woings, as they beat against the walls of its 
prison in its attempts to fly Light-ward, God-ward, 
ascended before Heaven with the sweetness of 
angelic adoration. 

Tears were bursting from my eyes ; my heart was 
palpitating wildly; my whole frame trembled. 

Again the soft, low, swelling voice floated like a 
spirit across the lonely, untenanted court. 

“ Behold a wandering pilgrim moves 

P'rom place to place; he seeks in vain 
My love that was so freely given — 

Love which he ne’er shall find again. 

“ Oh, gentlest, noblest, best of men ! 

Could thy life buy my liberty, 

Thy love would hazard life’s sweet hope, 

And set me free, and set me free.” 

The sound of this melancholy matin came from 
the remotest part of the uppermost flat. I marked 
well the direction, and was about to venture out. in 
quest of the singer, when heavy footsteps ascended 
the oaken stairs. I retired. In a few moments 
some dozen or more men entered the room adjacent 
to the one I occupied. They spoke not a word 
until all were seated. 

This business must be finished,’’ said one ; 
this woman must be put out of the way.” 


212 


JEAN GRANT, 


‘‘ Yes/’ said a second, it’s getting to be a devil- 
ish dangerous business.” 

‘‘ She’s pure whalebone ; she will not surrender,” 
added a third. 

‘‘ The thing has been delayed too long,” resumed 
the first speaker, ‘‘ No. 19 had a foolish idea that 
she would marry him and so give him control of 
her money. It was no go.” 

“ No use debating,” chorused a new and brutal 
voice ; ‘‘ our way is clear. A million isn’t to be 
fooled with. Garland, he’s dead ; Wentworth, he’s 
dead ; there ain’t nobody now but the old lady. 
The matter’s simple. Make the girl sign the deed, 
with a revolver to her head. That done, give her a 
glass of something that’ll send her off easy. The 
old woman can be managed. She lives alone. A 
short visit some night, a sort of professional call. 
That’ll settle her. Then sell the property 
and divide the money. How does that strike 
you ? ” 

Very well,” responded a number of voices 
simultaneously. 

Not at all,” answered one in a low, determined 
voice, “we can get her money without blood. 
Blood is a bad thing to deal in. It sticks. It 
won’t wash. Let us wait a bit. Let’^ give the 
young woman a chance for her life.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha! No. 7 is getting chicken-hearted,” 
shouted one. 


JEAN GRANT. 213 

‘‘ He always talks like an angel, but acts like a 
devil,'’ said another. 

‘^Well,” said the brutal propounder of the plan, 
‘‘ I believe in doing things right.# I’m no coward.” 

Nor am I,” responded No. 7, with decision. 
‘‘ I say a man as talks that way is a coward.” 

I say I am not a coward.” 

I say you are.” 

‘‘You lie ! ” 

Both men sprang to their feet. The report of a 
revolver rang out. A member of the party fell 
heavily to the floor. 

“ That settles that question,” said the man with 
the coarse voice. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


The party, a few minutes after, left the room 
and descended the stairs. For some time, I re- 
mained in silence. Soon, the low, moaning sound 
which came from the room in which the conspira- 
tors had assembled convinced me that the unfortu- 
nate victim of the short encounter lay there 
dying. The agonizing moans and mutterings 
of this dying wretch went straight to my 
heart. 

But Leonore ! Leonore ! was she not near me ? 
Had I not heard her voice pleading for deliverance? 
I more than suspected that I was the knight of her 
old-time affection to whom she Tiad paid such an elo- 
quent song-tribute. Now, that I might see her, even 
if one short glance, one word of recognition should 
cost me my life, should I not aim straight at the 
mark? Why should I lose even one precious mo- 
ment in consoling the dying man? Life was of as 
much value to me as to him. I was, even now, in 
the very jaws of death. What hope had I that I 
should ever escape from the “ Black Star alive ? 
None. 

But the inarticulate appeals of a dying man com- 


JEAN GRANT. 21 5 

mand the tenderest and most reverential sympathy 
of hearts much harder than mine. 

This poor, dying wretch had lost his life by 
speaking a word of mercy for Leonore. He had 
showed that he had yet alive in his bosom a spark 
at least, of manhood. 

I entered the room. What a sight ! The tall, dark 
man I had so often seen playing at the club, lay on 
his right side, in a pool of blood. The fatal ball 
had passed through his neck, severing the jugular. 
I tried to stem the tide. It was useless. He 
opened his large, dark eyes, now full of fear and 
supplication, and looked into mine. ‘‘ What ! you 
here?’' he muttered hoarsely I am dying. Only 
a minute ! I liked you. Will you do me a 
favor? 

Yes ; what is it ? 

His hand clutched mine firmly, expressive of his 
gratitude and confidence. 

‘‘ There’s a woman in the garret of this house — a 
prisoner — an heiress They have been making her 
believe she’s insane — beautiful — lovely — -young. 
To-night — to-night — they will kill her for her 
money — they are murderers and robbers. For 
months I have tried to get her out of their clutches 
— have saved her thus far — from insult — outrage — 
death ! She is still pure in life — as she is in soul ! 
Save her — save her ! I loved her — I loved Leonore 
Sherman ! Save her — to-night — to-night ! Save 


2i6 


/EAAT GRANT. 


her — tell her — Harry Nellis died to save her. Key 
— key — promise me, promise — 

‘‘ I promise you, brave fellow ; I promise you 
before God that Leonore shall be saved this day or 
I shall follow you into eternity.'* 

Tears were gushing from my eyes. I felt a pain 
at my heart which almost killed me. His head 
rested on my arm. I was kneeling above him. I 
took a large key from his left hand. With his right, 
he gave mine a short, convulsive squeeze. A calm 
smile stole over his pale face. ‘‘ Leonore, Leo- 
nore ! " he whispered, in delight, as the lovely 
prisoner appeared in the sweet, swift dream which 
carried him from life to death. 

It was not long before I found an opportunity of 
moving out into the open court. Another flight of 
stairs had yet to be climbed, before I reached the 
garret. This means of ascent I was glad to find 
unguarded. I approached the corner of the garret 
from which I had judged the morning song to have 
proceeded. The end remote from the street was 
partitioned off from the main body of the flat. A 
door stood open. I entered it as quietly as pos- 
sible, and found that a hall ran completely around 
the inner room which, as far as I could perceive, 
had no means of entrance. I examined this inner 
partition with the keenest scrutiny, but could find 
neither door nor means of ingress of any sort. The 
key which I had received from the murdered man 


JEAN GRANT, 


217 


was in my hand. I was prepared to enter that room 
at all hazards.. I believe I should have entered it 
though I knew it were the gateway to perdition. 
But of what use was my key? There was no door. 

Then I heard a sound within, as of soft footsteps 
moving about the sealed apartment. Who can 
describe that moment! Leonore’s footsteps! 
Leonore ! I had sought her all those weary, pain- 
ful years, and, at last, I was so near her ! Great 
happiness of the true sort rises to religion. Mine 
did. I clasped my hands and said, Father, I 
thank Thee.'' I could say no more. My very soul 
went out in those few words. 

The soft footsteps continued to move about the 
room. My^ patience was sorely taxed. But every 
part of my nature had been disciplined. What 
could I do? I would call her name in a low tone. 
She could hear me. She would recognize my 
voice. She might tell me how the room could be 
entered. The word was on my lips. I could not 
utter it. I tried in vain. Again and again. The 
word Leonore " was too sacred to be spoken in 
that terrible haunt of sin and crime. All at once I 
heard a woman's voice, the same voice I had heard 
in the morning, singing a low, sweet, tender refrain 
such as a woman sings above a sleeping child. 

“ Come Death ! Thou art my kindest friend, 

And lay me in some valley green, 

Where clover and sweet violets bloom, 

Where smiles the sun with warming sheen. 


2I8 


/EAAT GRANT. 


There, shall I fear no tyrant’s wrath ; 

There, shall the soft winds tenderly 
Lull me to sleep. Kind spirit, come 
And set me free, and set me free.” 

Before the last note had died in my ears, a loud 
noise attracted my attention. It was some one 
entering the room. 

The hurried, crowded scenes to which I have 
briefly alluded in the last few paragraphs, filled the 
terrible hours of that memorable day; and the 
evening twilight was now folding its deepening and 
uncertain shades around the objects in the narrow 
hall in which I stood. I took advantage of this to 
venture sufficiently near the new visitor to observe 
how the room was entered. He touched an electric 
spring in the outer partition, when, at once, the 
large, closely-fitted door rose automatically to a 
height of some six or seven feet, exposing an inner 
wall of strong iron bars. 

Into the ponderous iron door a huge key was 
thrust. The door was pushed open. The visitor 
again touched a spring in the iron wall and the 
wooden side-wall descended to its place. The 
visitor at once began conversation with the inmate. 

‘‘Good evening. Miss Maynard. How are you 
feeling this evening? Better I hope,” said he, 
with grave politeness. 

“ Thank you, Doctor,” replied Leonore, “ I am 
as well as usual. Did you not promise yesterday 


JEAN GRANT. 219 

that you would not again call me Miss Maynard? 
My name is Leonore Sherman.*' 

‘'Oh yes; I had quite forgotten. You must 
excuse my bad memory," said the doctor, “you 
see, my poor child, the nature of your terrible 
malady is such that any unusual excitement may 
prove instantly fatal to you. I assure you, that 
your true name is Miss Maynard, but to humor 
you, I shall be most happy to call you any name 
you may choose for yourself. Your trouble often 
takes a turn of that kind. I have known many 
persons whose minds had been affected just as 
yours is; and I have invariably had occasion to 
observe that the most striking symptoms of the 
disease manifest themselves in this way. Some 
imagine themselves Queen Victoria, or Abraham 
Lincoln, or General Grant or the Czar of Russia. 
Others fancy themselves great actors, — Modjeska or 
Terry, Booth or Irving. Still your case is by no 
means incurable. If you will try to compose your- 
self, and quietly obey your guardians, I think you 
will, before long, be able to return to your home in 
Boston." 

“ My home is not in Boston. Why do you try 
to deceive me? I am not a lunatic. I know 
it. You know it. For years, you have visited me 
in this horrible place almost daily; and for all those 
years, you have been acting a lie, a cruel, infamous 
lie. Are you not wearied of deceit? You know 


220 


JEAN GRANT. 


I am not insane. You know I have been confined 
in this cell by a confederacy of wicked men, who 
wish to drive me mad by the infliction of every 
species of torture. You know that you are the 
only person who can free me from this awful condi- 
tion. Surely, by this time, you know that you 
cannot make me believe that I am mad.** 

'‘Ah, my dear lady,*’ he continued, “that is the 
worst feature of your case. Those who are insane 
never know it, never believe it, never admit it. 
They always believe themselves especially wise, 
discerning, and inspired to lead and guide others. 
If you would only once admit that you are insane, 
the chances of your recovery would be immensely 
increased.** 

“Admit that I am insane? Why should I? Put 
me to any test you will. My memory is good. 
Can I not reason as well as others who are sane? 
Try me. I have five fingers on each hand. I can 
read and write as well as I could formerly. At 
least, I believe I can do so, though you have never 
let me see book or pen since I entered this place. 
I have counted the days of my imprisonment. 
They are fifteen hundred, less fourteen ; without 
aid of any kind, I have kept track of the days, 
weeks and years of my bondage. To^ay is Tues- 
day, the twenty-first day of July, A. D. i8 — . Next 
Monday will be my twenty-seventh birthday. Are 
not these dates correct ? Could an insane person 


/£AJV GRANT 


221 


do this ? Put me to any test you choose. Oh, 
Doctor, for the thousandth time, I pray you to 
have pity on me. Deliver me from this place. 
The world will honor you for it. I will give you 
all I have, a ransom for my liberty. These men 
mean to take my life, in order to obtain my prop- 
erty. God knows I would freely give it all to them 
if they would let me free. But they are afraid to 
give me my liberty, lest their crimes should be 
brought home to them. Unless you deliver me, 
I shall never again see the light of heaven. These 
men, when the proper time comes, mean to take 
my life. Oh, Doctor, take pity on me. Remem- 
ber, I am a woman and you, a man. Devise some 
means whereby I may escape from these wicked 
tyrants.’' 

'' Ha, ha! I fear your case is getting more hope- 
less. These men, tyrants ! These men who have 
cared for you, and paid your doctor-bills for many 
years, without having received a single cent, or a 
day’s service from you ! You are very much worse 
to-day. I must give you stronger medicine. These 
men, tyrants ! They are your guardians, your 
friends.” 

Don’t pollute the name of friendship, by calling 
them my friends. Would my friends leave me to 
pine in this wretched, filthy dungeon, all these long 
years without a cause? Would my friends have, 
forcibly, and for the love of lucre, dragged me away 


222 


JEAN GRANT. 


without occasion, from home, from my aged and 
widowed mother, from my kinsmen and friends, from 
society, and from the blessed light of day? Would 
my friends have starved me, and chained me, and 
drugged me in their desire to drive me to madness? 
Would my friends have made me dwell in a place 
like this where my companions are criminals of the 
basest type ; where my betrayers have constituted 
themselves my guardians ; where the light of day is 
never permitted to enter ; where my youth has be- 
come wrinkled age and decrepitude ; my splendid 
fortune my unpardonable crime ; my life, a very hell ? 

‘‘ It is over four years since I was smuggled into 
this dark cell. During that time, I have not heard 
the voice of music or of mirth > I have not seen the 
familiar face of a friend or acquaintance ; I have 
not beheld the blessed sun, nor the silvery moon 
moving across the brow of night, nor the merry 
stars twinkling in the blue heavens ; I have not 
been allowed to leave this dungeon one solitary 
time ; I have been forbidden what the poorest and 
most despised slave is allowed, to breathe the pure, 
sweet air which blows from the mountain and flow- 
ery valley ; this poisonous air is killing me slowly 
but surely. 

Oh, Doctor, I appeal to you, by the love 
you bear to your wife, your mother, your sister 
or your child, deliver me from the yoke of this 
bondage. You are not one of this wicked gang. 


JEAN GRANT, 


223 


You cannot be. You look like a kind man. You 
know I am not a lunatic. You know that such sur- 
roundings as these, would have long ago converted 
me into a raving maniac, were it not for the extra- 
ordinary strength and endurance of my body and 
mind. 

Oh, sir, as you hope to obtain mercy from your 
Heavenly Father, have mercy on me. Think of 
my terrible sufferings. Think of my awful fate ; 
alone, friendless, helpless, utterly in the hands of 
my cruel betrayers. Oh, sir, have pity on me ! 
Have mercy on me ! Deliver me ! God will bless 
you for it. I shall be your friend forever. I 
shall make you so rich that you will not need 
to depend on these wicked men for your prac- 
tice. You and yours shall ever be my first thought, 
my tenderest care. Oh, Doctor, will you not help 
me? Oh, I know you will. You cannot be one of 
my captors. You cannot be so bad. You will 
help me ! 

^^Now, my dear Miss Maynard, do try to com- 
pose yourself. You are very much worse this 
evening. I must insist that you shall not indulge 
in such foolish speeches. I am here to help you. 
Have I not been your friend since ever you knew 
me ? Has not your life been sustained by my skill 
and care? Have I not — 

No, it has not ; I needed no medicine. I knew 
that, and to be candid with you. Doctor, I have 


224 


JEAN GRANT. 


never taken a single dose of your medicine. I 
knew what I was kept here for — my money. 
These men have been trying to drive me to mad- 
ness. I suspected that your medicine was to fur- 
ther that end. I know I shall never again be at 
liberty. I know I shall never leave this cell, alive. 
I know I must die by cruel and unjust hands. I 
am prepared. I shall speak the truth. You, sir, 
are the worst of these evil men. I know it. You 
are not a doctor ; you are a designing, untruthful 
man. None of them know giy wretched condition 
as well as you do. To none of them have I ap- 
' pealed so often in vain. It has been in your power 
to succor me, but you have a heart of stone. My 
indescribable bodily suffering and anguish of mind, 
during those four awful years, my oft repeated 
appeals for help, for deliverance, for kindness, my 
entreaties, my prayers, my tears, would have 
touched the heart of a Nero ; yet, you have re- 
mained indifferent to them all. You may kill me. 
I shall tell you the truth. You are not a man. 
You are destitute of kindness and pity. You have 
no humanity. You have spoken words of pre- 
tended sympathy. Why? To drive me to despe- 
ration. You have prescribed for me. Why? To 
kill me. Why not kill me with your revolver ? 
Would it not be true kindness and mercy? I have 
never tasted your drugs. Not that life has any 
value for me in this place, but that I resolved not 


/EAJ\/' GRANT, 


225 


to die by your slow poison. Have you the spirit of 
a man in you ? I shall test it. Listen. I ask you 
now, here, to deliver me or kill me. I am ready to 
die. I shall accept either alternative with un- 
feigned gratitude. Which shall it be? .Speak. 
You may well tremble.- I tell you, God shall pun- 
ish you for your callous, sinful treatment of me. 
Look what your plotting has done for me. My 
hair is white as snow. My cheeks are wrinkled, my 
eyes sunken. I look like a woman of eighty, and 
you have been my physician! You have not 
allowed me enough food for a child. Look at my 
bony fingers. Look at my wasted form. I have 
not had a pen in my hand, or read a book or news- 
paper for four years. My request for a Bible you 
have treated, like all my other petitions, with mock- 
ing disdain. Oh, God, merciful and loving ! Why 
hast Thou forsaken me ? 

IS 


CHAPTER XXV. 


She ceased. No answer. This unexpected out- 
burst of truthful indignation and scorn had evi- 
dently made his coward’s heart quail. 

I could scarcely restrain myself from throwing 
open the doors and strangling this fiend. But, no. 
Patience ! The noise would call others. I should 
be slain and all would be lost. Patience ! He 
would soon go. Then, I should reach her, clasp 
her to my breast for a solemn, joyful, silent mo- 
ment. Then I should take her in my arms like 
a child and rush down the stairs at all hazards. 

But this was not to be. The plot thickened. 
Another member of the Black League ” entered 
the room. 

‘‘How’s your patient this evening. Doctor?” he 
inquired. 

“ Very much worse,” was the reply. 

“ Ah, sorry to hear it,” said the new-comer with 
an air of severe indifference. “ We must get her 
out of this place. This air does not agree with 
her.” 

“ Oh, sir, let me free ! ” she pleaded. 

“ That’s exactly what brought me here, madam. 


/EAAT GRAJSTT. 


227 


Please sign this paper and you shall have your lib- 
erty.” 

What is it ? ” Leonore enquired. 

It is a paper which all the inmates of this place 
sign before getting their discharge.” 

Will you please read it ? ” Leonore asked timidly. 

“No; it’s too long. You need have no fear. 
Sign it, please, without delay.” 

“Will you let me see it, before I sign it?” 

“No ; we cannot do so. All you have to do is 
to sign it.” 

“ I should like to read it or have it read. It 
might be my own death warrant ; or it might be a 
gift of all I own to some one I hate.” 

“Well, and even if it were, what of it? Have 
you not offered all you have, for liberty? ” 

“Yes; give me some assurance of my liberty, 
and I shall gladly give you all I own. But if I 
sign this document, giving you my fortune, how do 
I know that I am to be set free ? I would still be 
in your power.” 

“ Will you ^ or will you noty sign this paper ? ” 

“ No; ten thousand times, no. You mean to get 
my signature to aid you in the recovery of my 
possessions, and then put an end to my life. You 
shall not have it. I am ready for death. But I 
shall not sign.” 

A short, sharp whistle was sounded, and clumsy 
steps approached. 


228 


/£AJV GRANT. 


A third man entered the apartment. 

‘‘ Aha ! the gal’s a bit obstinate is she? ” said the 
murderer of Harry Nellis. 

A terrible, creeping dread came upon me. The 
situation was indeed critical. I had already 
learned the savage decision of this rough character. 
I knew the object of his visit to Leonore’s cell. I 
had but a short time for contemplation. 

‘‘This’ll make her more pliable. This old friend 
of mine has persuaded lots of gals against thar 
wills.” 

I crept to the spring in the wall. 

“Neow, my gentle duck, take this pen in yer 
hand. Yer can sign this or not as yer likes. I will 
give yer two minutes. If it isn’t signed then, I 
will blow yer brains eout — that’s all.” 

“ Noy 710 ! I shall not sign ! I know you 
mean to kill me whether I shall sign it or not. I 
know my time has come ! I am ready to die ! I 
shall never sign it! But you will give me ten 
minutes to pray for you all — to pray that God may 
forgive you for the great sin you are about to 
commit.” 

“ Herry up, gal. I’ve had my say. Half yer 
time’s gone. I never use blank cartridge. Herry 
up, gal.” 

The sound of hurrying footsteps came from the 
stairway. The whole gang was coming. The 
moment had come. God be praised ! I would die 


/EAAT GRANT. 


229 


with Leonore ! I touched the spring. Noiselessly, 
the wooden wall arose. The iron door was open. 
What a sight ! A woman in rags, kneeling in 
prayer ; her hands, clasped and uplifted ; her 
wasted, death-pale face, glowing with radiant 
worship ; the once fair neck, now smeared with dirt, 
swelling tremulously under the terrible strain ; the 
fine, beautiful lips moving in words, so low and 
fervent that they 'were only audible to the ear of 
the Omnipotent ; her snow-white hair, coiling about 
her neck and shoulders, and lying like a cast-off 
shroud in masses on the floor ! A coarse, brutal 
man standing by her side, holding the muzzle of a 
revolver close to her head ! 

Quick as a flash, I threw myself against the 
would-be murderer ; wrenched the weapon from his 
grasp ; pointed it at his head, and fired ! He fell to 
the floor, like a log. ‘‘ Villains, devils ! ” I shouted, 
while the other two fiends crouched, in terror, 
before me. Leonore ! come ! ” 

With a wild scream of joy, she sprang to her feet. 
I caught her by the hand ; snatched her from 
the dungeon ; drew the door shut and turned the 
key, leaving the three wretches, locked in the 
cell. 

'‘^Arthur!'' Leonore f were the only words 
spoken. We reached the head of the stairs. A 
dozen or more men came rushing up. I drew my 
revolver and was about to fire, when the faint gas- 


230 


/EAJV GRANT, 


light revealed the features of the leader — Dr. Parks ! 
And a posse of police ! We were saved ! 

Dr. Parks, on his return from Boston, learned 
that I had been missing for a day or two. He at 
once suspected foul play, and, going to the “ Black 
Star early that morning, had heard the report of 
the fatal weapon upstairs. This served to confirm 
his suspicions. He at once set about organizing a 
body of police strong enough to capture all the 
occupants of the place. They had finished hand- 
cuffing the men down-stairs, when the report of the 
revolver invited them above. Had they not made 
such a timely visit, there is little doubt that I 
should have failed in my long task, and that 
Leonore Sherman and myself should have 
perished. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


The dark plot had, at last, been fathomed. 
The whole gang was sentenced to penal servitude 
for life, and its effects handed over to the Treas- 
ury. I had not killed the murderous rascal at 
whom I fired, the bullet having glanced off his 
thick skull. 

Poor Leonore ! she was in a truly pitiable plight. 
It took months of careful nursing to restore her to 
health and strength. 

I shall not even attempt to describe the meeting 
between Leonore and her mother. The pent-up 
feelings of maternal and filial love which found vent 
in broken words, and choking sobs, and exclama- 
tions of tearful joy, when the broken-hearted 
mother, once again pressed her long lost child to 
her heart, are beyond human power to depict. 

Now that my life's mission had been fulfilled, I 
seemed ready to die. Had I anything more to live 
for ? My hand had lost its cunning. My constitu- 
tion was hopelessly wrecked. I was yet a compara- 
tively young man, but the withering age of priva- 
tions and disappointments had set its seal upon me. 
My hair was as white as poor Leonore's. Now that 


232 


JEAN GRANT. 


the long, severe strain, under which my nerves had 
been stimulated to superhuman energy, was re- 
moved, a terrible prostrating reaction set in, which 
made my life a continual burden. During Leo- 
nore’s convalescence, I used to visit her daily, 
walking with the aid of a cane, for my health was 
such as to cause my physician grave alarm. 

On these occasions, I was always welcomed by 
Leonore and her mother, with the most cordial and 
unaffected warmth. Indeed it seemed as if they 
spent much of their time, in devising means of ex- 
pressing their gratitude. 

As Leonore’s strength increased, my daily visita- 
tions became correspondingly longer. I had, long 
ago, learned how passionately I loved Leonore. It 
was these visits which now kept me alive. How 
lovely she was becoming ! Each day, as her lost 
vivacity and hope returned, I could see her becom- 
ing more and more beautiful. The long white hair 
seemed to bring out with amazing effect, the perfect 
loveliness of the youthful face. 

I was waiting patiently, though painfully, for her 
complete recovery. Would she love me ? When 
she was lost, I fancied that if I could only be the 
means of her redemption, her love would be the 
certain reward of my diligence and bravery. Now 
that she was found, and growing day by day more 
like her old self, my chances seemed to become less, 
and my misery greater. 


JEAN GRANT. 


233 


The dreamy, distant look in her eyes seemed to 
speak of some great unspoken love buried in the 
past. I knew she had loved George Wentworth. 
I could not expect such love as she bore to 
him. We had both lavished in vain that 
strong first love that never comes back to the 
heart. 

I resolved in no way to take advantage of my 
position. Leonore’s happiness was dear to me. I 
would have scorned to have demanded her heart as 
the price of my services and sacrifices on her behalf. 

Is it not the bounden duty of a true man to 
stand up as the liberator, guardian and friend 
of woman?” I avoided, as well as I could, show- 
ing my great love for Leonore. I wanted to learn 
if she loved me. I wanted to watch her re- 
turning life, and see if it spontaneously turned 
towards me. On this point, I could not satisfy my- 
self. One day, my spirits rose to bliss ; the next, 
they went down to despair. She was as affection- 
ate toward me as any woman dare be toward a man 
not her husband ; but there were so many other 
sources, besides love, from which such actions might 
flow. We were old friends and schoolmates. I 
had been as a brother to Leonore, ever since 
George Wentworth's death. More than this, I had, 
at great danger and cost, rescued her from death 
and dishonor. How could she help being kind and 
thankful ? 


234 


/EAJV GRANT, 


At last, Leonora was perfectly well. I spent 
most of my time with her now. 

I resolved to put my doubts at rest. I would 
ask Leonora for her hand and heart. But it was no 
easy task. A hundred times I attempted it, and as 
often turned my conversation aside to some other 
subject. It seemed unfair, if not positively cruel. 
It looked like tying a person’s hands, and then ask- 
ing him to fight me. She was not in a position of 
independence. Days went by. My wavering pur- 
poses never seemed to come to a settled decision. 

We were sitting alone in the parlor one evening, 
in October. 

‘‘ What shall I play for you Arthur } ” she 
asked, rising to her feet, and putting her soft palm 
on my cheek. You seem so sad to-night. Don’t 
look so downcast. Cheer up, Arthur. We have 
both endured so many real hardships, that we 
should never create imaginary ones. Let me sing 
you something cheerful.” 

She sat down before the piano and dashed off in 
an airy, graceful, girlish fashion, Alice Carey’s 
pretty lines — 

Oh, don’t be sorrowful, darling, 

And don’t be sorrowful, pray, 

Taking the year together, my dear. 

There isn’t more night than day.” 

‘‘What next?” she asked, turning towards me 
with queenly face radiant with smiles. 


/£AJ\r GRANT, 


235 


‘‘ Anything, anything you may do, or say, or sing, 
or play, will make me happy to-night, since you are 
happy,'' I replied, feeling truly happy to see Leo- 
nore so much like her charming self again. Leo- 
nore, I never thought I should see you so cheerful 
and buoyant as you are to-night. It makes me feel 
better than I have for years." 

Ah," she replied, only for the faith, love and 
courage of my hero, I should never have had all 
these delights. Deprived of them so long, I now 
enjoy them tenfold. How different to-night is, 
from the time when you first heard me sing this! 

^ “ Behold a wandering pilgrim moves 

From place to place ; he seeks, in vain, 

My love that was so freely given — 

Love that he ne’er shall know again. 

“ Oh, gentlest, noblest, best of men, 

Could thy life buy my liberty. 

Thy love would hazard life’s sweet hope 
And set me free, and set me free.” 

Yes, Leonore, matters looked very serious that 
morning. That was an eventful day." 

That was the day of my second birth. I shall 
keep it sacred every year of my life. And I shall 
always want to have you with me on that day, so 
that I can look on the brave man who saved me." 

Thank you, Leonore. These are dear words to 
me. I only did my duty. But — but — may I ask 
you — ask you a question, Leonore ? " 


236 


JEAN GRANT, 


“Why, yes, Arthur, what is it ? 

“To whom did you refer, in that verse you have 
just sung ? 

She blushed a deep crimson. Her head drooped, 
and she made no reply. I felt provoked. I fully 
believed now that the words were not addressed to 
me. My heart went down to the abyss of disap- 
pointment. 

“ Pardon me, Leonore, I should not have asked 
you that question. You will make some allowance 
for my abruptness. 

“ I took her hands in mine. I drew her close 
to me and said, “ Leonore ! Leonore ! I am miser- 
able. Will you make me happy ? 

“ If it is in my power,*’ she replied. 

“ It is ; it is in your power. But do not make me 
happy by making yourself otherwise. Leonore, 
you know me. I am nothing now but the wreck 
of a man. I am prematurely old ; my fortune does 
not amount to what would buy me a burial plot ; 
my spirits are inclined to be gloomy and morose ; 
my health is very unsatisfactory ; I have neither 
trade nor profession ; I am a gentleman pauper. 
You know also, Leonore, my darling, that I have a 
kind disposition ; that I would rather endure afflic- 
tion than see others afflicted ; that I have a fair 
education ; that I have a heart that loves honor and 
contemns meanness. Now darling, I want you to 
forget that I was your friend long ago ; that I often 


/EAJV GRANT. 


237 


counselled your mother and you, when you were in 
trouble. I want you to forget that I have sought 
you out and saved you. I want you to forget all 
that I have ever done for you — and tell me, tell 
me, Leonore, my love, did you — can you — do you 
— will you love me and be my wife ? ” 

In another moment, she was sobbing on my 
cheek, with her arms clasped closely around my 
neck. 

‘‘Arthur, I have loved you for years. You have 
made me the happiest woman in the world.” 

I clasped her to my heart, and the first time 
for twelve years, I knew what joy and happiness 
meant. 

Qn the New Year’s Day followings Leonore be- 
came my wife. 

We went to Europe for two years, and returned 
with our health greatly recuperated. 

Our united efforts to discover Jean, had so far 
proved unavailing. Dr. Parks was growing into 
a fine city practice. We had almost decided that 
Jean was dead, but Dr. Parks never gave up hope. 
An exceedingly life-like oil-painting of Jean hung 
above the mantle in his library. He cherished no 
new affections. He spent many of his evenings at 
Mrs. Sherman’s. He was a true gentleman at heart, 
and we were greatly attached to him. 

On our return to New York, we were welcomed 
by many friends. Mrs. Sherman and Dr. Parks en- 


238 


/£AAr GRANT. 


tered the carriage with us. On our way to our 
elegant new home overlooking Central Park our 
carriage struck a pretty little news girl, breaking 
her arm. I sprang out of the vehicle and picked 
her up, a poorly-clad, poorly-fed, but fine-featured 
little waif. We drove to Dr. Parks* surgery, only 
a few blocks away, and had her arm dressed. I 
waited until the operation was over, carried her 
into the carriage, with the intention of taking her 
home, and leaving enough money to keep the 
little thing in food and clothing until she got better. 

“What’s your address, my child, where do you 
live ? ” I asked her. 

“ 29 Bleak Street, sir.” 

I gave the driver the address, and entered the 
carriage. 

“ What is your name, my poor dear ? ” asked Mrs. 
Sherman. 

“ Lena, ma’am,” was the answer. 

“ Lena whaty my pet? ” 

“'Lena Windsor.” 

We looked at each other. 

“ What is your father’s name ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Mamma will not tell me his 
name.” 

“ What does he do?” 

“ I don’t know. Mamma says he is dead.” 

“ Who buys your clothes and food, my dear? ” 

“ Mamma ; I earn the money selling papers ; I 


/JSAJV GRANT, 239 

take it home and give it to mamma, and she buys 
everything with it.’' 

Does your mamma not earn any money? ” 

No; my mamma is sick all the time. The doc- 
tor says she will soon die, and then I shall have no 
mamma and no home,” and the child burst into 
tears. 

Don’t cry, dear, don’t cry ; we shall be good to 
you, and give you a home,” said Leonore in her 
tenderest voice. We were all too much absorbed in 
thought to speak during the next few minutes. In- 
voluntarily, I looked towards Dr. Parks ; for a mo- 
ment his face was deadly pale. Then the flush of 
a great joy seemed to brighten his features. His 
eyes flashed triumphantly. I had never seen this 
man of iron moved till now. It was wonderful. 
He seemed almost transfigured. We sat in silence. 

When the carriage stopped before a small frame 
house, scarcely ten feet square, I lifted the child 
out and carried her in, followed by Leonore and 
her mother and Dr. Parks. Our fears were too well 
founded; there lay poor Jean, wasted away to a 
skeleton. She was dying. In a moment, we had 
all kissed her, and were bending above her, in 
tears. She opened her eyes and recognized us. 
She could not speak, but whispered, Forgive ! ” 
For a brief moment, she rallied. Dr. Parks flew 
to the nearest drug-store. Taking Leonore’s hand 
she placed it in mine, and holding them together, 


240 


/EAJV GRANT. 


whispered much louder than before, Forgive ! 
Forgive ! My child ! 

Leonore stooped and kissed her dying sister, say- 
ing, I shall be her mother. I shall be Lena’s 
mother.” 

A smile of placid peace and joy overspread Jean’s 
features. She sank into a stupor like death. 
Dr. Parks, terribly excited, entered the hovel, 
opened the narrow windows to let in the air, ad- 
ministered restoratives. Her pulse was still quick 
with life. We all stood back, moved to pity by the 
agony on the man’s face. He held her hand in his. 
He smoothed her poor pinched brows with his 
hand. His eyes were fixed on her wasted features. 
Mute, tender affection was expressed by his 
every attitude and gesture. In a few moments she 
revived. She looked at him in wonder. I went 
near and said: Dr. Parks, Jean, who was your 
friend in London.” Oh, thanks, thanks,” she 
sighed, and tried to smile. 

Leonore and I have enjoyed an ideal wedded life. 
No woman could have a tenderer heart or a more 
queenly disposition. Her own unspeakable suffer- 
ings have rendered her naturally warm and gener- 
ous heart magnetic to the slightest manifestations 
of pain or misfortune in others. Her hand is ever 
open ; her feet are swift to bear the message of 
help and joy to the sick and the poor ; her heart is 
ever reaching out in humane sympathy for the bur- 


/EAAT GRANT. 


241 


dened and downcast. But amidst all her labors of 
love and duty, I am not neglected. No woman 
ever graced a home or delighted the heart of a hus- 
band, with a more even and unaffected display of 
gentleness and love. Our elegant home is only a 
slight external type of the peace and contentment 
that preside within. 

We spend our winters in Washington where it 
is my honest pride to serve my country as Con- 
gressman, and where Leonore, uniting her hospi- 
tality, her humanity and her affability, shines, at 
once, as the queen of society, philanthropy and 
beauty. 

Dr. Parks enjoys one of the largest practices 
in New York, and has also become a famous con- 
tributor to the literature of science and exploration. 
By his nursing, by his love, more than by his medi- 
cine, he won Jean back to life, and she is now his 
happy wife. 

Joss, the brave Innuit who saved our lives so 
often, while we voyaged on the ice-floe, I educated 
for the ministery. He is now conducting successful 
missionary work, among his fellow-natives in the 
bleak North. 

Magnificently elaborate marbles mark the sleep- 
ing-places of George Wentworth and Harry Nellis. 
Leonore and I often visit these sacred spots to 
see that the flowers we planted there are kept in 
order ; and I have often on these occasions, kissed 
16 


242 


GRANT. 


the falling tears from Leonore’s eyes, as I said to 
her, ‘‘ Those are gracious tears, Leonore ; but let 
us forget the dark past, my darling, and make the 
happy present the promise of the happier future.” 


THE END. 


Philosophy of Words 

A POPULAR INTRODUCTION TO THE 

SCIENCE OF LANGUAGE. 

j By FREDERIC GARLANDA, Ph.D. 

Professor of English and Anglo-Saxon in the University 

of Rome, Italy. 

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I SUMMARY. 

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It is the only work which explains in a really popular way the latest 
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Max Muller Bays : 

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j It is not extravagant to say that The Philosophy of Words, by Frederic Garlanda, 
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1 


The Fortunes of Words. 


Uniform with the Philosophy of Words. 

Bt FREDERIC GARLANDA, Ph. D. 

Cloth, 12mo. Price, $1.50. 

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It is attractive to the degree of fascination. — The Wilmingtonian. 


[TRANSLATION OF CAESAR 

I Parallel Edition of the Classics. 

THE FIRST FOUR BOOKS 

i — OF — 

Caesar’s Commentaries on the 
Gallic War. 

CONSISTING OF THE OKIGINAL AND TRANSLATION 
ARRANGED ON OPPOSITE PAGES. 

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